To Keep A Soul
by Stechpalme
Summary: AU: No longer able to live in the world of Jean Valjean, Inspector Javert prepares to end his life but is saved at the last moment by the lonely girl of the slums. Eponine/Javert
1. Chapter 1

Eponine, her fingers twitching and her hair mussed, was still a little shaken from the being at the barricades. When she had returned to the city centered battlefield to bring word of her delivery to Marius, a bullet from a musket had narrowly missed her chest by a mere inches after she had shoved the gun away from her beloved. And not a minute there had Marius already sent her away, much to her chagrin. He was protecting her, she knew, but he did not see that she was protecting him, that she always protected him. For that, a heavy sigh fell from her lips and into the warm night air.

But that was Marius; he was always blind. Even when all of his friends had noticed and confronted Eponine on her unrequited love for their dear companion, he had remained ever ignorant, once more oblivious to her attentions and intentions. Sometimes she thought he must be daft to not notice her affections, but a young girl in love for the first time is a being too innocent to think cruel thoughts towards anything, no matter how much his ignorance pained her. However much she ached, cried, pined, and protected, Eponine knew that Marius would never love her as anything more then a friend. Not now. Not after he had met his Cosette. He was hers now, she knew, and, in the end, there would be no escaping that thought.

But that could not stop her from pretending.

She walked the streets of night time Paris once more, taking no head to Marius' command to stay indoors during the danger, and instead pretended that her beloved walked beside her, whispering sweet comments in her ear, one arm wrapped around her waist. True, they were poor, but she dreamed herself into an elegant aristocratic woman, and he would be just as finely dressed as she was. Their fine clothes would compliment them jst as much as their souls complimented each other.

In the dimlight of the street lamps, Eponine smiled. When the imagination of Marius stood beside her, the filth of the city transformed. When he was beside her, Eponine once more loved the place she called home. With Marius, the chill of rain became warm, long dead trees bore blossoms, the river was not a place of cold and death, but a place of mist and magic. With Marius, ugliness became beauty. With Marius, Eponine became beautiful. He provided an opiate in her dull, constant pain, and no one could deny that she was addicted to his soft words and his dark curls.

As the large cathedral on the East side of Paris dolled midnight, Eponine walked the bridge above the river Seine pretending that Marius walked beside her. It was a place common with jumpers, she knew, and many times she was gaurdian over the lost souls who found themselves before the door of their own death, just about to turn the knob. She would give them a good reason as to why they should live, and, if it was raining like it was tonight, she would give them a warm place to rest from the night. She saw it simply as her duty as one of God's children to tend to others in their own crises.

Eponine undestood that many of these people would soon find their death in some other way, but she could not stand by idly while such a terrible sin was taking place in her presence. Se loved and feared God too much to let anything of the sort happen. And besides, she liked to think that some of the people she pulled back from the parapet of death still walked the Earth as she did, though she would admit to herself that she rarely saw a face familiar from such an occurrence.

Tired as she was, she would still patrol the bridge tonight with the echoes of gunshot and frantic boy's voices still pounding in her ears. And it was to some use. Even now she saw a darkly dressed man standing atop the stone railing of the bridge. Though his figure was barely discernible in the nearly nonexistent light, she saw at once that his arm was raised, outstretched towards the empty sky. He was speaking to himself.

"I am reaching, but I fall. And the stars are black and cold, as I stare into a void of a world that cannot hold. I'll escape now from that world. From that world of Jean Valjean. There is no where I can turn. There is no way to go-"

As he lifted a foot shakily from the stone mound that railed the bridge to begin his plummet to hell, his eyes closed though flickering images of the dead he had seen still swam past him, Javert felt himself being yanked backwards by the back of his frock coat. He landed against the icy ground of the cement beneath him, and his lithe body shook violently in the humidity before noticing another body splayed against the ground beside him. His eyes found his unwanted savior's, a scrawny boy with a round face, and he scowled darkly at them, making Eponine's heart begin to pound unnaturally fast.

"What is the meaning of this?" His deep voice cut through the dank night air and Eponine shuddered as greatly as any other human with sens would have.

The man she had rescued had brilliant, neatly cut red hair that had begun to prematurely gray at the temples from years of strenuous work, his skin was pale and he was clean shaven: a well groomed man. In the dim light cast by the street lamps, Eponine saw broad shoulders and a strong form. The man had a face that may have been called handsome on better circumstances. His misery and boredom sullied the fine features of his face and made everything stand out wolfishly sharp.

This man was well known to Eponine. This was Inspector Javert, a well feared and respected man of the authority. The plague of the slums. The most hated face in her household, on her street, and in her entire world. If her parents ever got wind that she had saved Inspector Javert from a watery death, it would be likely she would not be able to walk for some time.

"What is the meaning of this, young man?" He repeated with a voice that could have made the strongest man cower in fear.

Eponine had almost forgotten she was still dressed in the clothes she had worn at the barricades. It was safer to walk the streets of Paris as a man and she had kept the clothes to keep herself from harm, but now she regretted it. Perhaps the Inspector would be kinder to her if he knew he was dealing with a woman, and a young, hunger ridden one at that. She scoffed at the thought a moment later, however. She had seen the man practically spit on beggars who were near deaths dreary door. Anyways, she was not well acquainted in the man. In her starved and paranoid mind, it was incredibly likely that he was one of the men who made it safer to walk the streets of Paris as a man rather than as a woman.

The thought made her cringe.

"Your life is a gift from God. It's a sin to take away that gift." She was nearly breathless from fear of this man, and Eponine had to pause between every few words she spoke to inhale a new breath of stale air. Even in her efforts, though, when his eyes began to rake over her body, taking in her full appearance, she felt her lungs begin to ache with a terrible pain again.

"Well, it is my life. And whether or not I want to end it in sin is my choice." This fearful man spoke through gritted teeth and Eponine shuddered for the second time, her bones shaking like hollow twigs within her horribly thin body.

Javert raised a hand to strike her, an occasion quite common to Eponine as her father had believed strongly in physical discipline after times had become hard on them, and Eponine flinched before raising a minute hand to shield her face. From this involuntary movement, Eponine knocked her newsboy cap off, causing her dark tresses to tumble down from the top of her head and down her shoulders in a matted and frayed curtain.

Upon seeing this, Javert let his arm fall to his side and the rage in his face at being cheated out of his own death was replaced again by that deep, mournful sorrow that had posessed him the past few hours like a curse. His anger melted into something that made Eponine stay where she was placed by God against the damp pavement instead of running away as her entire body demanded her to do. His melancholy shocked her into a stand still, and she watched, her chest still rising up and down rapidly, as he raised his hand over his eyes as if to shield them from some dreadful sight.

"Everything is a lie." He groaned. He succeeded in repeating himself several times over and it occurred to Eponine that he must have gone mad. All his years of being fierce must have finally taken a tole on his sanity, she thought to herself. And he did seem fairly mad to her at the moment, his usually neat uniform scuffed and dirtied, his neat hair out of place, his lips still moving in a silent murmur. He was completely off his rocker.

Off his rocker and all the way off the front porch, she mused to herself.

But here was a man of the government. A respected and well dressed man. A man certain to have money. Greed is an undesirable trait in a person, but, after all, Eponine _was _a Thenardier. She could not help but feel a twitch of interest at the possible profit here. That filthy name plagued her with the affliction common to many people who have been trapped in the world of poverty. Above all things, however, what possessed her to do what she did next was not the sense of greed that would ignite any other, but the deep panging in her empty stomach that made her want to fall each time she stood.

His head lolled onto his shoulder like an exhausted child and Eponine stood, absentmindedly brushing off her worn trousers as her dark eyes observed his alien behaior. With a tomboyish strength, she gripped Javert's forearm and forced him to his feet, admiring the fine glint of his watch chain with a steady watch.

"Come one, Miseour. I'll get you out of this rain."

In great moments of turmoil and sadness, some souls have a tendency to bend at anyone's will. They will obey any command given them, so long as it gives them something to do. These souls often apear to be the strongest of all in day to day activities, but when something drives them to the breaking point, they become timid and weak. Such was Javert after he was granted mercy by the notorious villain Jean Valjean. His world was shaken, and he found himself behaving like those weak men and women he so hated.

This was why this proud man of the public authority followed the little cross dresser to her home: a run down, one room apartment in the slums. The sad place was completely unfurnished besides an iron bordered bed with two surprisingly clean mattresses and an old wooden stool beside a fireplace with uncharred wood already set in its gaping mouth. The place seemed to frown at him, and he found himself frowning back.

Javert suveyed this ugly room with an unjudgeing eye while standing in the corner awkwardly. He was used to seeing the poverty of the lower classes and this place was typical of the poor, but he had never lingered in one of these places for long. He also watched as the thin girl in men's clothes lit a steady fire and warmed her pair of dirt streaked hands for a moment by the hearth. After she had done this she went to the bed and withdrew one of the mattresses from beneath a layer of fabric made up by dozens of threadbare knit blankets and poorly made quilts. She dragged this mattress to the side of the room farthest from the bed and near the warmth of the lit fire.

When she was done with this, she unlaced her boots and set them by the hearth and sat back on the mattress in the corner, crossing her arms over her trousered knees, and surveyed the man.

"You're in some mix, Miseour." She said with a drawl to her enunciation, pronouncing his title as a criminal might. It was a dialect of the rough and poor, one he knew well from his work on the streets. She gestured to the bed with her thin arm, looking at him with slightly narrowed eyes as if daring him to cross to her side of the tiny flat. "You should get some sleep. I'm sure you'll be wanting to be on your way as soon as this storm clears up."

At her words, Javert registered vaguely that his men needed his command and assistance on the battle field. He found with a strange numbness peculiar to these special souls that he did not much care. He, Javert, one of the greatest officers in his time, did not care about the well being of his men. They could die for all he cared. At this realization, he felt an inexplicable sense of fear and fell back onto the bed behind him without so much as a single noise. Though some might find it relaxing, his silence unnerved her.

"Why not let me die?" He murmured, his voice bring her some sort of relief. His voice was scratchy from yelling out orders all day and he watched the shadows from the fire flicker on the ceiling, dancing a ballet of various shades of gray. His eyes ached from the day of bloodshed and horrors, but he found he could not close them and deny himself this strange dance.

"You're ill, that's all, Miseour. In a few days you'll see me in the street while on duty and you'll be thanking me." Eponine said, smiling obsequiously. Hopefully with a few francs, she added silently to herself, still watching him with a wary observation.

Though the girl who had saved his life was kind spoken, Javert did not agree with her words. As soon as he was out of her watch he would kill himself some way or another, probably in the most painful fashion he could formulate. He could not live in a world where escaped convicts spared _him_. It was simply out of order. He could not live in a world without order. The pain would make his last moments some of the most vivid he would ever experience.

"Come on now, Miseour. Get some sleep. I'll get you something nice to eat in the morning and you can be on your way home to your family."

Javert did not have a family. His mother had no other children that he was aware of and she had died in prison years ago. He had never known his father. His career hadn't given him time for a wife, so he had no children. He told the girl this with a solemn tongue, though Eponine could sense slight irritation behind her words as if it was her obligation to know his entire life's history.

"Well, then you can at least be on your way home." She told him with a tiny scowl.

Eponine was surprised when he nodded as she was not aware of his current, gloomy state of soul. She watched quietly as he doffed his black frock coat and dropped it to the floor, not even glancing to see where it landed. From his belt he removed a club, a dagger, and a small pistol, all of which layed all gently on top of his coat. Finally, he unlaced the shiny black boots that were specially issued to officers, placed them beside his ther items, and laid back on the little bed. It was really too small for Eponine to begin with so for Javert it seemed miniscule compared to the luxury size bed he was used to sleeping in in his fine estate.

He did not mind. He did not even realize the difference.

"Such strange things, people. I wonder, what is it we live for?" He murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

"That depends on the person." She answered thoughtfully, not recognizing the rhetoricy of his question.

And she could not have been more truthful, but a further explanation was missing from her reply. What did Javert see in his life that was worth living for? Justice, of course, but he had failed justice. What did Eponine see? She saw Marius who would, of course, never return her love.

Neither of them had much to live for, so what made them keep breathing when misery weighed down on them heavier than the Earth itself?.

Eponine watched as the man, Inspector Javert, stared at the ceiling above him. He spoke softly and his voice was different from what she usually heard. When he spoke and gave orders to the public, he had a clear, sharp voice. But when he spoke now something was off. His voice was feeble, gravelly, and exhausted. His voice reflected his current personality and Eponine wondered what had shaken this man, who had always seemed a force so strong and fearful, and had caused him to undergo such a dramatic change in such a short space of time.

It must have been something terrible, she decided. And she was right. To Javert, the doubt that had begun to creep into him when he doubted the wrong in Valjean had been his true downfall. It was not only the doubt in his conquest for the imprisonment of Valjean, but the doubt had crept into all of his other cases. How many innocents had he incarcerated? How many lives had he ruined? Javert had begun to see his wrong and he could not live with that. He who had always been in the right, he who had always thirsted after justice, had been guilty himself all these years. He had drank a wine denied to others when he had been an alcoholic all along.

Javert grunted and a gloved hand groped down to the floor for his dagger. He claimed it in his black cloaked hands and brought it up to his eyes. Unsheathed, he examined it with a slight fascination, his jade eyes observing the way it gleamed darkly in the thin light of the fire.

"What are you doing there?" Eponine asked from her vigil in the corner. She had replaced her cap but her dark hair still graced over her shoulders like a thick and tangled wrap. Javert gave her a glance and then returned his attention to his policeman's knife, running his thumb over the freshly sharpened edge of the tool.

"Nothing." He said quietly. Eponine stood slowly, narrowing her eyes and placing her hands over her boyish hips.

Rolling up his stiffly ironed shirt sleeve so that his pale wrist and the violet veins beneath his skin were exposed, Javert raised the blade of his dagger and pressed it into his flesh, his face stony as drips of blood began to run down his arm.

"Hey!"

With the swiftness of a cat, Eponine had already crossed the room and pried the dagger away from him by grabbing the blade. With this action, she cut her hand open but ignored the oncoming steady flow of blood now emanating from her palm. She picked up the pistol and club and returned to the side of her room that she claimed as 'hers'. Over here, she placed these weapons between her mattress and the wall so that if he tried to retrieve them while she was sleeping he would have to lean over her, inevitably causing her to wake.

Surveying her hand, Eponine cursed this man with a bent brow and wondered if he was too much trouble for a few francs. She decided that he was and was about to tell him to get out when a gentle hand gripped her wrist and began to wipe away the scarlet puddle forming in her hand. Javert took a strip of bandages (something that was necessary to carry with you at all times if you were a policemen, as gendarmes were always hurting themselves in one way or another) and wrapped it around her hand expertly, his face expressionless and his movements stoic.

Blood flow staunched, Eponine looked up at Javert and he formed an impression of her.

She had pale skin, though he could not see this because she was covered in a layer of grime, and, despite obvious emaciation, she had a very round face complimented by a permanent flush of the cheeks. Beneath heavy lashes, Javert saw she had dark brown eyes that seemed to burn in the fire light like twin coals. If one saw her from a distance, they would say "Now, there is an ugly girl." but on closer examination she seemed quite fair underneath her evident filth. If she had a good cleaning, Javert thought to himself, she might even be considered pretty.

Javert had recently found himself surveying many women, so it was not unusual that he had examined this girl so closely. Several weeks ago, he had been attending a meeting with another officer over a lunch. They had been at said officers house when a pretty young women had appeared behind a lace fan. The officer had introduced Javert to his wife. He had just recently been wed and it had got Javert thinking. This officer was younger then he and had been in the same rank but had somehow still obtained a wife despite utter devotion to his career. A thought had been forming in Javert's head that perhaps, if he really put some effort into it, he would be able to maintain a wife as well as his beloved work like this man. He had made several attempts to make good impressions on various young woman of rank but all had ended poorly. They had disliked him for his coldness, and he would not marry a woman unless he was sure they would be at least generally happy as his wife.

Maybe a poor girl would be more suitable for him, he thought to himself, although he wouldn't dream of touching this girl crawled from some ditch in the slums. He knew quite well who she was.

However, he didn't see why any of this mattered much anymore as he would be dead within the week.

"What are you, girl?" He asked, looking into her face and applying pressure to her hand though it had long since stopped bleeding.

"What do you mean, Miseour?" Eponine asked. She had noticed this man examining her closely and it had made her feel uncomfortable.

"You are not a prostitute?" He asked, quietly his voice hushed as if it was a sin to speak of such things and he did not wan the Lord above his head to hear.

"If I was, would you arrest me, Miseour?" Her eyes narrowed again, thinking of how he had yet to let go of her hand.

He shook his head. She smiled bitterly.

"I am not a prostitute. Sorry to disappoint you, if that is what you wished for. I am simply a poor girl who watches after everyone else. " She said, softly, her dusty lips curing into a ghost of a smile.

He shook his head again. "I hate whores." He muttered.

"I know."

Javert's hatred of call girls was well known, especially in the slums of Saint Michel. No whore could walk the street without fear of being arrested as long as the Inspector was around, and the fearsome things she had heard him say to any of the poor woman who found themselves in financial trouble were not sentences she could soon forget. Eponine did not think she had ever heard or seen a man so deeply invested in the hatred of another.

He let go of her hand and she felt a twinge of pain stab through her palm, making her give a small, faint exclamation. Javert walked back to his side of the room and fell back against the little bed, and she no longer cared to watch him. Though she could not be entirely sure, she felt little suspicion that he would attempt to hurt himself or her at the moment. His personal problems seemed to be consuming him too much to even bother with those thoughts at the moment.

Eponine prepared herself for sleep, as well, and she jumped as a roll of thunder pounded against the door of her apartment, her mind quickly wandering back to Marius as it always did when she did not have something else to occupy her thoughts. Perhaps the violent and impounding noise had actually been the boom of a cannon. It would be a fearful night if one was locked outside. She wondered, in the back of her mind, where Garoche was at this hour. Laying back on her mattress by the fire, Eponine dismissed this thought. If he had really needed a place to stay she would have found him here when she got home, probably already snoring away with a fire already lit.

Although she layed back and prayed for sleep and the safety of the boys at the barricade, a little drop of fear pricked her about Marius. He had been at the barricades, fighting. She prayed to God specifically for his safety before imagining that he was laying beside her, keeping her warm and tightly wrapped in his lovely arms. He would be okay, she reassured herself. But that did not stop her from vowing to visit the barricades again as soon as she got the Inspector off her hands in the morning. Perhaps Gavroche would be there, too.

Absorbed in her own thoughts and with the added noise of the storm, Eponine almost did not hear Javert.

"What is your name, girl?" His eyes were closed. He was almost in that wonderful comfort we call sleep, but something kept him still drifting in a seemingly endless awakening.

She smiled, this time without a trace of bitterness. It was a genuine smile and, for a moment, it erased her ugliness.

"Eponine." She said, her voice, for the first time that night, smooth and gentle.

"Eponine." He repeated in a murmur.

Perhaps this girl was a sign that God did not want him to die yet. Perhaps he was not so wrong in his convictions. Perhaps he was not so unjust.

An inexplicable smile lit up the face of a man who could not remember the last time he had smiled. Both human's lips were curved in a rare display of happiness, and neither of them would be able to explain why if confronted. We only know that inexplicable smiles are the most supreme of all facial expressions.

Javert blinked his eyes open and took in the sight of the filthy girl one last time before sleeping. She slept on her stomach, her hands curled by her chin, her lips were slightly parted, and her hair was swept like a rope over her shoulder, like she was some sailor on his way to bind the masts of his home. Her dense lashes cast slight shadows over her round cheeks. She appeared to him, in the dying light, like a mystic, conceived in the stars and born in the rays of the sun that fell to the miserable Earth he wandered on.

Eponine.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning when Eponine woke, the storm still raged outside but had quieted some. Rain still beat against the ground, but with less ferocity, and there was no more presence of either powerful thunder or the ominous thundering of cannons. Eponine was certain that she would be able to get rid of the Inspector as soon as he was awake, as traveling conditions seemed fine, if not a little wet, for that morning.

Sitting up from her mattress on the floor, Eponine felt the lack of food in her stomach and the lack of blood in her head and she wondered if she had any money to buy food, or if she would be stealing breakfast today. Or perhaps the Inspector would give her a few francs for her trouble. Eponine hoped this would be the case.

Lifting her hand, she was surprised to see some bandages wound tightly around her palm and she remembered the event with the dagger the night before.

Silently, she cursed Javert for being a suicidal imbecile, then thanked him for patching her up again after she had cut herself by preventing his death for the second time.

Eponine's next thought was Marius, and she thought about him for quite a while and all throughout her morning activities. We mustn't blame her for this, however. To Eponine, Marius was the one source of light in her bleak and lonely life. When one sees something to live for, they reach for it as much as possible, as plants reach for the sun.

Rummaging through the ragged blankets and other cloths atop her make shift bed, Eponine retrieved her shift and skirt. Expertly, she put them on by putting her girl's clothes on over her already existing men's shirt and trousers and then removing these men's garments so that she ended up alone in her female attire. This mode of change had two primary functions: one so that it allowed her to not be subjected to the chill air without any clothes at all, and another so that she would not be subjected to Javert without any clothes at all if he woke suddenly and found her dressing.

Such a blunder would be completely immodest, she knew, and the room would become tainted with discomfort, embarrassment, and possible humiliation. For both of them.

With hands and fingers numb from cold, slow from exhaustion, and weak from hunger, Eponine laced her boots on over her thin feet and began to rekindle the fire so that she could see and begin to claim feeling in her freezing limbs. The room was completely dark as there were no windows in the apartment to avoid having to pay a tax, and the only source of light would either come from the open door or the fire. The door would not be an option as it couldn't be much past the freezing temperature.

When a fire crackled somewhat happily, the only joyous thing in this shabby place, Eponine warmed her hands and thought of Marius' warm personality. The mere thought of him warmed this sad girl almost as much as the fire before her did. To imagine his dark air and beautiful eyes was to be cloaked in a woolen shirt. To see his smile in her mind's eye was to be given a new coat to replace the frayed and thin one she had on her now.

Standing up, Eponine strode to the other side of the room to observe Javert. She found him still breathing life and in a deep sleep. All the times she had seen this particular officer before, his face had been possessed by a hard, stony setting that was his passion for the law. But now, as he lay asleep, this passion was replaced by peace and Eponine remarked to herself that his sharp features seemed softer, and his softer features more vivid. Eponine remarked to herself that he may even be slightly handsome, though this nowhere near rivaled the charm of Marius' dark curls and sea green eyes.

His face was pale and smooth, despite going the morning without a shave, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes where broken capillaries portrayed hours of sleepless night. His hands, which were still clad in black leather gloves, held themselves curled up by his face like a child's and his broad chest rose and fell calmly with each breath he took. This policeman's pale lips were parted just a sliver, and Eponine felt herself drawn to those lips.

At this time of observations, she also noticed that the graying at his temples had seemed to reduce as well, though she knew that could not possibly be. She was certain he had as much ruffled red and gray hair as the night before.

She wondered how old he could be. He appeared to be not a day younger then forty, though Eponine knew looks could be deceiving. Javert had spent years on the force, watching horrific crime after horrific crime, and submitting himself to strenuous labor. This had aged Javert so that he appeared much older then he actually was.

Having entered the police academy at the small age of fourteen, Javert had become a gendarme at the prison in Toulon by eighteen, where he had first seen Jean Valjean. Five years later, Javert was stationed as head officer of the Montreuil-sur-mer police department at only twenty three. There was much scandal among the justice department at a head officer who was barely out of boyhood, but Javert soon proved himself as an admirable enforcer when he unveiled the criminal Jean Valjean, otherwise known as Miseour Madeleine, one mayor of Montreuil-sur-mer. After this, Javert was thrust into the limelight of criminal justice and was soon appointed as Inspector on the streets of Paris, which had long since needed purging of the shallow dregs of human kind that lay in allies and gutters, polluting the crowds of the good people. Ten years later, Javert had soon caught scent of the long lost trail of Jean Valjean after he had 'drowned'. It had now been a few months since the fateful day when Thenardier had attempted robbery on the old man. Javert was just four months shy of thirty five.

Despite what all others believed, Javert was still physically a young man. His sleeping self reflected this youth and Eponine saw this with a slight fascination.

Lifting a bony hand to this man's face, Eponine felt gently at his prominent cheek bones, feeling the soft skin there, not weather beaten like the other men's she knew. Brushing the tips of her fingers against his temple she sighed, Javert did not wake at her light touch. He was sleeping too deeply, lost in a dreamless sleep.

Eponine removed he hand and felt the familiar ache of loneliness. She was quite certain that she was the loneliest person in the world, not a single friend to her name, and not a single ounce of love bestowed upon her by another. Her own parents did not love her. If anyone in the world loved Eponine even slightly, it would be Azelma, but Azelma was almost always off on her own errands. Unlike Eponine, she had retained enough of her childhood beauty to be able to keep friends and even the occasional romantic interest, but these lovely charms no human should be denied did not extend to her ugly older sister.

In addition to her loneliness, Eponine had always been at utter discomfort with her poverty, unlike her sister who did not mind a small theft every now and again. Oh, how Eponine longed for the days of dolls and kittens and little silk dresses that did not rub her skin raw. But she knew that was all gone now, gone with an inn and the little girl that she had once been. That girl had completely vanished amongst the grime and misery of the Paris slums and throughout the past few years she had gone through a transmogrification. Unlike Azelma, Eponine had hardened, and it was not the memories of dolls and dresses that she longed for, but for the long lost times of happiness.

Yes, above all other things, Eponine wanted to be happy.

Watching Marius, she saw how much joy was in his life and his friend's lives and she had fallen in love, not with the boy, but with his happiness. She had hoped that if Marius would love her as well, he would share his happiness and they would be happy together. Such was the origin of her love, and, even now after he had fallen for another, she yearned for the boy's joy.

Watching this sleeping man, Eponine wondered is he also felt the aches of loneliness as her.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a quick rapping came from the narrow door and Eponine recognized the frantically hurried knock of her younger sister. Wearily, she opened the door and let the younger girl in. Azelma was wrapped in rags like Eponine's, though these were slightly less ragged, and she had an out of fashion woman's coat that, despite it's garish pinkness, still functioned as a coat, unlike Eponine's poor frock coat. She had also wound a thick, woolen men's scarf around her head so that it framed her face. This scarf had been a gift from an admirer, the baker's son who had always fancied Azelma and had even occasionally said kind word to Eponine. These other ugly clothes had all been scrounged by Azelma's older sister, who could have taken them for herself but had wanted to keep her little sister clothed against the winter cold.

Walking inside Eponine's little hovel, Azelma did not at first notice the sleeping form of Javert, and stood warming herself. Kneeling on the hearth, Azelma looked up with a round face similar to Eponine's and grinned.

"I've got us some breakfast. Didn't even have to steal it either. 'Pauche smuggled it out for me." Epaucheve was the baker's son. Azelma held up a loaf of bread triumphantly and Eponine returned the younger girl's grin.

"Good job, 'Zelma." She whistled. "Let's split it up then."

Eponine took the loaf and tore it roughly into three pieces.

"One for Gavroche." She explained, slipping a piece into her coat pocket. "If we can find him, that is. Otherwise we'll just split that up too."

Azelma nodded an agreement and they both sat cross-legged before the fire, eating their breakfast. Suddenly, Azelma looked up at Eponine concernedly, the bread in her mouth making her cheeks look swollen and puffy like a chipmunks.

"Have you seen Gavroche at all lately?" She asked, swallowing a mouthful.

Eponine shook her head and both girls were silent. It would be okay, Eponine told herself, sometimes days would go by without the Thenardier daughters seeing their younger brother, and even when he surfaced up he would act as if nothing had happened.

"He'll be alright." Said Azelma, speaking while eating.

Suddenly, she caught sight of the Inspector in the corner, and her mouth gaped open, her eyes widened, and her face first paled with fear then colored with embarrassment for her sister.

" 'Ponine, you didn't." She exclaimed in a whisper, afraid to wake the man, and Eponine felt her face begin to color as well, though one could scarcely see this beneath all of the layers of grime and dirt.

"No, I didn't." Eponine said, gesturing sharply to the mattress behind Azelma, a scowl marring her face. "You know I wouldn't. And besides, you're too young to know about that kind of stuff."

"Not that young." Azelma murmured, just loud enough so that Eponine could not hear.

"I found him trying to jump into the Seine. Thought I'd take him home, get him rested up. You never know, 'Zelm, probably's got a few pennies to his name. Hopefully he'll thank me with one."

Azelma shrugged and picked herself up from the floor and walked with all the lightness of the emaciated towards Javert's sleeping post. She glanced at him, not with the careful observation of Eponine, but like a school girl observing a particularly fascinating reptile at a zoo. Javert shifted slightly and this girl ran back to the safety of her older sister, with a slight squeal and a grin.

"You better empty his pockets, 'Pon." She said, smiling mischievously. "He's terrifying."

Eponine nodded, though she did not agree much, and collected herself up back by the hearth, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs. She stared blankly at Javert and Azelma had to roll her eyes at he sister. She was probably thinking of Marius again, Azelma snorted inwardly.

"Have you seen Marius?" Asked Eponine, still staring at the Inspector. Azelma shook her head and Eponine answered her with a sigh.

"Why do you think he was trying to drown himself?" Asked Azelma, sitting beside her sister in the same manner, resting her golden hair on Eponine's shoulder.

"I don't know. Had his reasons I'm sure."

Both girls were silent, their breakfast gone, and they each pondered why on earth the rich Inspector would want to take his own life. Each had their own solution.

Eponine thought that years of work surveying the horrors, filth, and depressing qualities of Paris, something in him had snapped and he no longer had the desire to live. This was half right. Javert had witnessed countless crimes and none had unnerved him so far. It was the kindness of an old man that had ruined him.

Azelma, a frivolous, day dreaming girl, was pleased with herself to imagine the Inspector in love, unrequitedly so. Only this flowery girl could imagine the policeman with a heart of stone in love. This was a bit of a copy of her sister's current problem, though Azelma did not notice, and was far from the real situation.

The two girls' pondering was interrupted when another knock came from Eponine's door. This pounding was not at all like the rapid knocking of Azelma's. It was in fact the knock of the huge Madame Thenardier. Her pounding was rivaled only by her enormous size.

Without waiting for someone to open the door for this giantess, she let herself in and Eponine shuddered. Many times she had felt the scorn of her father's hand but she had often been subjected to a kick or a whack from a broomstick by the Thenardiess. Even when she had found this small room and moved away to be on her own, Eponine's parents still dropped by for a 'visit' if the ragged girl had ever done anything they didn't approve of. These visits often left Eponine painted in purple and yellow bruises, blooming up from her legs, arms, and face like flowers.

When Madame Thenardier entered, her frizzy red hair bouncing up and down with each step she took, she honored the sleeping Inspector with a glance and gave a sort of snarl peculiar to the woman who poverty has hard shaped.

"You better be getting good money from the man. He's dangerous, that one. Wouldn't want your Mother and Father getting into trouble with the law, would we?"

Eponine went through a motion where she first opened her mouth then closed it on second thought, gave a nod in agreement, then shook her head. This tired girl stood and took the chair from beside the hearth and set it out for her mother. Azelma sat herself by her mothers feet and Eponine stood beside her, skinny arms folded behind her back gently.

Eponine did not dare disagree with her mother.

"Hello, sweetie." Madame Thenardier said, smiling down at her favorite daughter, the one seated on the floor. Azelma had always been more liked by both of the parent Thenardiers. "Have you eaten today?"

Azelma nodded, but Madame Thenardier still gave her an apple which she withdrew from the apron tied around her grubby dress. She gave nothing to Eponine.

"I'm here girl to talk to you. Your father was telling me just the other of how you foiled his heist. You couldn't possibly think this would be acceptable, would you?"

Eponine was silent and the Thenardiess slapped her across the face. She repeated the action once more until her daughter's face was red and raw.

"If you ever do anything of the sort again you'll find yourself in the river where you belong."

Eponine retained her silence and Azelma floundered for a way to save her sister from any further discipline.

"Mother, have you seen Gavroche lately?" Asked Azelma sweetly, rolling her mother's gift in her hands.

"Who?" Asked the Thenardiess in her gruff voice.

"Our brother, Gavroche." Eponine said coldly, clenching her fists behind her back so that her mother did not see her anger. "Your son, Gavroche." She added through clenched teeth.

"Oh, him!" Exclaimed Madame Thenardier. "He's dead." She said flatly, not a hint of sorrow in her voice.

The two girls were shocked into stillness. They were caught into a silent stupor, Azelma's eyes glazing over instantly, and Eponine had to shake her head to snap herself out of this trance.

"What?" Eponine croaked slowly.

"Seems he was off playing soldier and got himself shot three times at the barricades. Stupid little bastard. Apparently there weren't many survivors after the barricades fell."

Azelma was suddenly brought back to life and she let out an ear piercing scream and clapped her hands to her temples.

Three things then happened subsequently. Eponine clapped a hand over her sister's mouth when she persisted screaming, Javert woke suddenly and sat up, reaching for his missing pistol out of habit, and the Thenardiess, seeing the law enforcer awake, made a dart for the door, escaping into the chill morning, a reflex of those who have committed so many crimes that they are in constant fear of the law.

Azelma was shouting things beneath Eponine's hand and Eponine tried her best to make her quiet, but failed severely. Knowing she would only continue to be fallible in her pursuit of silence, removed her clammy hand from Azelma's mouth and listened quietly to her mad rant. Javert swung his legs onto the floor and did the same. Something in him had come back to life and if it was some sort of crime that was the reason for this girl's screams, he would hunt down the perpetrator.

"He's dead, he's dead, Eponine! He's dead! Gavroche is dead! Our brother is dead!"

Eponine took her sisters head and held it to her chest, stroking Azelma's long blond curls and hot tears soaked through Eponine's shirt. The younger girl continued like this for a while until she broke down int a string of mad sobs.

While this was happening, Eponine could only think of one thing.

_Apparently there weren't many survivors from the battle last night._

Eponine only thought of one thing: Marius.

Even when Azelma had calmed enough and had even collected herself enough left to be with her friends and mourn her brother with them, Eponine sat on the floor shocked, screaming as loud as her sister on the inside, though she was completely silent. She had never wanted anything more in her life then right now when she needed Marius' smile. Her younger brother's death had phased her sufficiently, but it was thinking of Marius laying dead somewhere that ripped her open the most. However, Eponine did not shed a single tear. She did not portray any emotion. The only thing she felt was fear and that was only inwardly, so the Inspector would not see it.

The girl sat on the floor, drowning in a sea of sudden want to see her beloved safe and well, her eyes and face blank, her entire body still besides the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Javert watched her, completely taken by her lack of emotion, much like his own.


	3. Chapter 3

Eponine sat alone on the floor of her apartment, Javert watching her silently. He looked on with a distant gaze as the girl stood slowly, her terribly skinny legs wobbling slightly beneath her with grief.

"Good morning, Miseour." She said, her voice scratchy, bowing her head slightly, her face timidly avoiding his as if afraid to meet his cold and unfeeling eyes.

"Good morning." He answered, quietly, still observing her open display of emotion. He had never once understood in his life why other humans were so ready to share their innermost feelings with others, and he still found himself marveling at the spectacle. Grief was, to him, something unfathomable. Tears were a complete chasm of mystery. It was not odd at all for Javert to stare into her pretty eyes, sullied with sorrow. He observed happiness and anger like any other might thoughtfully contemplate a painting, trying to decipher the motivation for the creation of the work.

"Are you feeling better, Miseour?" She asked wearily, walking nearer to him so he could clearly see the ragged clothes she wore. Beneath her skirt he could see her knees, scuffed and exposed, and her arms were completely bare and were covered with so much muck and grime Javert was certain that, if washed away, her thin limbs would be paler than any ladies. Her blouse was riddled with holes and, if it were not for the shawl hanging over her shoulders, he would probably be able to see the skin of her chest easily.

Still watching her, he ignored this question.

"I am sorry to hear about your brother." He said, his eyes focusing on her shawl instead of her eyes where she felt his gaze should meet. Javert was not really very sorry to hear the troublesome gamin was dead, but he knew that if he said otherwise it would only upset the slum girl further, so he held his tongue and offered a consolation.

"It is not only his death that disheartens me, Miseour Inspector."

Javert watched her without an ounce of emotion, only the curiosity of a policeman always looking for wrongs to right displaying itself faintly in his eyes. When he was caught doing this, Javert gave himself a silent scolding. His career was over, he told himself. He was a corrupt officer. He created more trouble then he was worth and he could simply not allow himself to continue working knowing that he had created injustices himself. But still, if there was someway to help someone, he would do it.

"What else is it that disturbs you?" He found himself asking her, fixing the sloppy posture he had assumed when he had woken suddenly by straightening his back and shoulders, meanwhile adjusting his rumpled uniform out of disarray.

Eponine raised her dark eyes to him and he saw they were glossed over slightly, like a mad woman's, but they were cloaked in a beautiful sense of tragedy. They spoke stories of hardship and sadness and just a little bit of fiery willfulness, though most of that was lost in her mourning. Javert lost himself in her eyes for a moment, thinking once again of his quest for a wife. The slum girl wouldn't do, certainly, but he allowed himself to examine her to decide what he liked about a woman's face. Javert decided that eyes like Eponine's were quite preferable on a woman. They were much better than the glassy, almost doll like eyes all other women he knew seemed to have.

"I'm afraid I do not know the whereabouts of a dear friend of mine, a young man who was fighting at the barricades. I fear him to be dead." She choked the last sentence out and her eyes suddenly flooded with the pain and fear she had been withholding from the Inspector, and he watched her with even more intensity. He wondered, somewhere in the back of his justice set mind, what those deep brown eyes would look like if they were happy.

"This boy," Javert said quietly, narrowing his own green eyes slightly in concentration as they bore into her emotion filled face. "What does he look like?"

Eponine looked up at him suddenly, an aching hope hastily replacing her imposing fear. She suddenly remembered that Javert had been at the barricades, being held prisoner by the students, tied to a post in the harsh rain that had spilt over them all. A million questions flooded her as to how he had escaped from them, but she pushed them away. Only one thing was important at the moment: the Inspector might know if Marius was dead or not.

"His skin is always very pale and his hair is dark and curly, like an angel's." She began, clasping her hands, her posture snapping into a straight position. "He has cupid's bow lips and his eyes are the color of new spring leaves and he is nearly two heads taller then me." She rambled on, not caring if he realized her obvious affections. "He is thin but not gangly so. He is a very handsome man. He goes by the name of Marius Pontmercy." He saw, at once, that Eponine's quick description was one only a girl sick with infatuation could declare, and he felt his mood darkening. He hated nothing more than having to deal with someone so devoted to another who did not care for them in return. Their affections did not bother with them, so why should they do the same?

Javert racked his brain, trying to remember the boy he had seen in Jean Valjean's arms, the one who had been wounded and whom the criminal had been intent on saving from the claws of death. It had been dark, both the criminal and the boy had been covered in filth, but he could still see his young and handsome face looming out of the darkness. With a start, he realized that this girl's avid description matched the vivid image of the boy in his mind perfectly.

"He was wounded but is still alive, I think." Javert swallowed a burning in his throat, his fingers unknowingly clenching the ragged blankets beneath his hands and his teeth gritting with enough force to cause himself pain. "He is in good hands." It almost killed him to admit this, but it would reassure the girl of her friend's safety and he owed her at least that for pulling him back from the bridge.

Upon hearing this, Eponine gave a sigh of both relief and delight. She even granted a weary smile to curve her cracked and dried lips, her entire being having been suddenly elated. She wanted to sing, dance, shout with joy, and exclaim to the world her happiness.

Her love was alive.

Javert surveyed her again, staring at her smile with the intensity of a biologist discovering a new species of animal. He was strangely fascinated by the small slope of her full lips, sadly marred by splits roughly made in various places from one blow to the face or another. A small smudge of dirt was smeared across the tip of her nose and he found himself fixating on the minute spot faintly splattered with a handful of childish freckles.

"May I have my pistol back?" The Inspector said this slowly, his eyes never wavering from the delicate but sullied features of her face.

"That depends, Miseour." Eponine's eyes narrowed slightly, like a cat irked when pet in the wrong direction. "Do you intend to hurt yourself with it?"

Javert was taken aback by her boldness and it seemed to Eponine that he went through an internal struggle before rolling his shoulders and neck backwards, like a man trying to relieve himself of stiff muscles. His eyes twitched slightly before he gave her a small nod. He could not lie, even if it obstructed him from doing what he wanted most. Lying was a sin against God and a sin against those whom he lied to and he would never allow himself to become involved with sin.

"Then no." She answered simply. "I think you should be getting a little bit more rest if you're still feeling that way, Miseour. Why don't you lay back down for a while and I'll get you something to eat?"

"I'm not hungry, thank you."

This was a lie. Javert _was_ hungry, he just did not have the desire to eat at the moment. The cause of this was somewhere in between his still moving quest for suicide and his certitude that this agonizingly thin slum girl had no food whatsoever to spare and, if she did, by some miracle, happen to have something worth consumption, he felt strongly that she should be eating it herself. This girl, he told himself solemnly, this _Eponine,_ could not weigh over a hundred pounds in her starving state.

Despite this polite denial of food, Javert did as she instructed and laid back against this bed again, though he did not sleep.

As many people often do when resting, Javert found himself thinking on the great matters of his life. He was aging quickly, he knew. Years were slipping through his open fingers like sand and soon he would be dead and he would have missed out on many great factors of life. If he did not act quickly, he would never know the glory of making love to a wife, the magnificence of producing a child, the righteous assurance of knowing you are needed. He had never wanted a wife or child before, but it seemed that, to all other men, being needed was a neccessity in life. And, perhaps, his eyes were missing some importance that could only be experienced if he was a husband himself. His peers all seemed to be in a wordless agreement that to be needed was one of the most important things in their worlds.

A thought suddenly hit Javert squarely in the chest. He was not needed by neither a wife or a child to clothe and feed them. This was why, when his career failed, he had nothing left to live for. He was a sad example of a man if he did not have these things, he thought to himself. Why, weren't the goals of a man to have a career and a family? Here he had been, lacking greatly in one area when he had believed he had everything he needed in his career. He wondered how other men who had both of these things saw him. Did they perhaps pity him, saying to themselves when he walked by, "There goes Javert, the sad man who is missing out on life because he has his head buried in his job." Javert suddenly became worried about this. He did not want to be pitied, not him, the man who lived in such splendor with all the highest regards in his field of work.

Most people, including one Inspector Javert, need something to live for to continue living. When they find a reason to live, they cling onto it like a man trapped in a pit clings to his rescue in the form of a rope. His career had failed, but Javert had suddenly found another reason. If he found a wife, he would have to live to support her. Before, he had viewed such womanly companions as pretty accessories, something for a man to entertain himself with and show off to other men, not exactly something important to him in particular. They were nothing more than decorations for a man's arm and house and a vessel to bear children.

But now Javert wanted a wife like any other man, and he would have one. But before he found one, he vowed to himself, he would begin to patch his career back together again so that he did not continue lacking in one area of the goals of men.

He would not be pitied. Not him. Not the best police officer Paris had ever seen.

Sighing to himself, Javert thought deeply again, running his fingers through the hair that had begun to gray at his temples. How much _had _he missed out on? He had never been in love, he had never had many friends, he had never even been outside of France in all of his years.

In his constant pursuit of justice since boyhood, Javert had been blinder than the oldest man when he had believed his gaze to be the clearest of all.

Well, he told himself dutifully, that would change at once. When was the last time he had even kissed a woman? It had been over a dozen years at least, and, surely, he had not dwelled on the prospect of kissing for the past dozen years either.

No longer feeling the nagging need to end his own life, Javert sat up again and swung his legs over the bed. Eponine looked up suddenly from where she had been sitting before the fire, watching the hot flames eat away at the soft wood. She turned her attention to Javert as he picked up his coat from beside the bed and pulled his arms through the thick black sleeves mechanically. Buttoning the breast of his jacket, he glanced up at Eponine, his eyes stormy and his expression as hard as stone. His stormy eyes glowed ember in the firelight and burned into her body and Eponine suddenly felt very fearful, like he was looking into her soul. It was like God himself was looking into her very being.

These were the powers of his eyes and they were one of the qualities that made him an excellent officer. No person could lie to these eyes, just as no person could lie to the eyes of God. As his stare heightened with fierceness at her, she felt her body beginning to tremble, though it was not like the way Marius made her tremble in the rare times he touched her. She trembled like a fawn before a wolf, sensing that its time was closing into a narrow and bloodied end. Sensing her fear, however, his eyes changed, though the difference was barely perceptible to a human's sight, and her steady shaking ceased almost at once.

"I am leaving now. Give me my things."

She nodded, her gaze focused on the dusty floor beneath her bare feet, and she retrieved his pistol, club, and dagger, afraid to disobey him in his suddenly found moment of clarity. He took these items calmly and placed them in their usual homes on his person, and she had no doubt that he had found his senses again.

When he had put these items away, Eponine had made to move away from him and retreat to the other side of the room, her instincts still whispering words of fear in her soul. When she had taken a step away from him, however, he had claimed her bony arm in a tight grip, hard enough so that she could not possibly get away from him but gentle enough so that it did not leave bruises on her already damaged flesh. He pulled her closer to him so that Eponine was completely immersed in his scent, an intoxicating mixture between soap and sweat. His other hand cupped her cheek gently and he brushed a thumb over the surprisingly smooth skin of her face, brushing the dirt away from her skin so that he could see the milky color beneath.

Standing, he towered over her, and Javert trapped Eponine in his eyes again, though she no longer trembled. He watched her confused face with an intense focus, drinking in the image of her in the dim light of the waning fire, burning the image of her despairing eyes into his mind so that he would be able to recall her with ease.

"Miseour, what are you doing?" She asked quietly, trying to pull out of his iron grasp with a quick yank but unsuccessful in her attempts. Eponine only found herself further agitated as he tightened his grip slightly and pulled her closer to him so that the scents of cleanliness and soap began to suffocate her supply of oxygen.

She began to make avid protests, but he hushed her so that the only sound that filled the room was the soft crackling of the dying fire. In a mere moment, the fire had gone out from lack of tending and they were both plunged in absolute darkness, the only sounds invading their ears the seemingly enormous noise of her rapid breath, gone hasty with nervousness.

It takes about ten seconds for brains to decide on impulses, but Javert's had already made one in less time.

Lost in this complete darkness, Eponine could see nothing, but she felt Javert's hand on her face tilt her head forward and suddenly a passionate mouth was upon her own. She had never been kissed before and she marveled at the warmth of the Inspector's lips before trying to push him away. He gripped her tighter, however, and Eponine felt him press his lips against hers even further for one final moment before pulling away quickly, leaving them both breathless. His hands released her, but she was too shocked to even consider moving. In the absence of light, she could sense his eyes burning into her and, even though she could not see them, their burning gaze forced her to stand still, her feet practically melted to the floor.

If anyone had seen the policeman's face after he had performed this remarkable procedure, they would have said he looked exactly the same as before, his face set as if carved out of marble by a Greek sculptor, completely frozen in the same hard expression his face always assumed.

"Farewell, Eponine." He said, and he turned, strode to the end of the room, opened the thin door, and let himself back into the world.

Eponine stood in the darkness for a long time, trying to comprehend exactly what had happened, her hand trailing to the sight of her mouth without a thought. It had been sudden, pointless, completely unfeeling, but her heart still pounded in her chest like a tiny hammer against her ribs. She was slightly disturbed to realize that her first kiss had not been with Marius but with Inspector Javert, the man she and the rest of the criminals of the Patron-Minette had always been in constant fear of. And it was not some clumsy, experimenting kiss like a boy's, but the gentle, passionate kiss of a man. And, even if it was cold and pointless, she did not have trouble admitting to herself that it felt good.

She then cursed herself for not having asked Javert for a greater reward than a kiss.

When he had left this little one room house, Javert had stepped out into the street and turned back to observe the way it looked in daylight. He did this so that he would know exactly how the girl's home looked and imprint it in his memory. He could not have told himself exactly _why _he did this, however, so he did not.

It was a simple structure, completely common in the slums, a small little cube shaped thing that was really just a shack with molding shingles nailed to a slanting, lopsided roof on top. Only one thing stood out against this ugly backdrop. Beside the house, in a tiny plot, were several plants with blossoming red flowers. It was the only hint of beauty on the entire street and perhaps the only thing worth admiring. They grew out of this filth and stretched their open petals towards the summer sun which had begun to vanquish the chilled and rainy storm and fill the sky with an awesome resplendence. These flowers had grown out of the grime of the dirt and had been strong enough to survive the harsh atmosphere of the city. They stood triumphantly in their ugly surroundings, almost smiling as if they knew of their beauty and strength.


	4. Chapter 4

Eponine leaned against a wall near a crowded market, her eyes twitching in the sweltering heat as she eyed peasant and bourgeois alike, searching for some way to earn food for her aching stomach without being in the wrong.

A few weeks had passed since she had shared her home with Inspector Javert and the hot summer sun beat down on the necks of all the laborers of Paris, that great blue vastness taking a break from the random rain storms that hit the hot seasons occasionally. If it wasn't for the protective layers of dirt that covered her skin, Eponine would be cloaked in a scarlet layer of damaged skin, but she had been able to avoid the tribulations of sun burn by standing in the shade the wall behind her created. This heat, along with this angry symptom that plagued many of the working citizens, caused for an irritable atmosphere. Not a soul was happy in this hot place and trouble was inevitable and brewing. Not a single person seemed in the right temperament for giving alms, but then she wasn't much of a beggar herself, either. She had too much pride for that.

Wiping a sweaty palm across her forehead, Eponine sighed. She had not seen Marius since he had sent her away from the barricades and she was beginning to worry for his life, despite the Inspector's words that he was in good hands. She felt his absence from her life constantly like a gaping hole increasing in size each minute she did not see him. A moment did not go by where she did not think of his smile, his laugh, his soft voice and his kind eyes. This was not unusual from her usual pining for him, but there was one small difference: Eponine had begun to feel a cold feeling begin to settle itself somewhere in her interior when she thought of the boy she had loved for so long. It was her hope for platonic love dying, though she did not recognize the disease.

This death had begun to change her, too. She smiled rarely, thought often of her own demise, locked herself away in a frigid isolation, and, most disturbingly, had begun to become more and more like a Thenardier.

Unfortunately, several other usual faces were also absent from her life, also dealing a heavy blow on her already fragile state. Gavroche, Enjolras, Grantaire, Courfeyrac, Combferre, and all the rest of the friends of the ABC and many more were gone, departed to the great infinity. Many of them had been Marius' friends, not Eponine's, but because they were his she mourned their loss as well as the loss of her younger brother. Their absences only wetted her already dampened mood, and, even though it was perhaps the hottest day of the year, she felt a dreary chill work its way into her.

It felt strange to Eponine to think that the boys who she had heard argue and debate for the past years were dead as nearly everything had returned to normal. The streets of the markets were crowded, beggars lay in every gutter, prostitutes stood on each corner as soon as night fell. Why, Eponine had even seen the Inspector out patrolling the streets again with his fearsome presence of the authority. Her quick eyes had noticed a change in his menacing gait, however, though she could not tell what was amiss with him.

She felt bitterly that the students and other people of the barricades had died for nothing, though this was not true. Their blood lay on the streets of Paris as a reminder to each and every person of the sacrifice they made to promote their opinion of the corrupt government. Their blood said one thing while staining the ground: we demand change. Whether change would come, however, she could not tell yet. She certainly saw no improvements so far.

Eponine slid down the wall she was leaning against and lay crumpled in a heap on the ground like the vagrant that she half was. She was weak from hunger, drowsy from heat, and lonely while thinking of Marius. She did not have even the will to stand any longer.

An old, rich looking woman with a fan passed her and sneered at the ragged girl on the ground before tossing a coin in her lap. Half surprised at her luck and half shocked she had been mistaken for a beggar, Eponine murmured a genuine thanks before standing to her scrawny legs. Tucking the warm coin into her hand, she nearly smiled. The woman's charity wasn't much but it was definitely enough to buy something to fill her stomach for the time being.

Browsing the market, she earned more than one suspicious glare from various salesmen, but Eponine ignored these hostile eyes on her back and claimed a ripe apple in her hand. It was a little bruised, but she did not mind. It only meant it would be cheaper and, besides, just because something didn't look quite as pretty as it could didn't mean it wasn't suitable enough for consumption. She passed her coin to the vendor and sunk back into the shadows where she would not be as noticed as much. She was tired of all the vicious stares, even if she did deserve them for being a Thenardier. It was becoming intolerable being merely tolerated.

Raising the apple to her face, Eponine examined the dark red skin of her prize and inhaled the fresh, sweet smell, her mouth watering and her stomach beginning to clench in anticipation of being sustained. Closing her eyes, she took one final inhale, but before she could take a bite someone grabbed her arm in a vice grip. Her eyes shot open to look back into the scowl of a surly looking police officer, his fair hair groomed expertly. He grinned at her like a cat who had just cornered a mouse, his blue eyes glittering with triumph.

"You stole that." He said, baring two rows of perfect white teeth menacingly. He had a pinched face and looked a little sallow, like he had spent too much time reading his law books indoors and not enough time on the streets actually enforcing the law when it needed to be enforced. She frowned before studying him further to note the smooth curve of his nose and thought that perhaps he might be handsome if he didn't look so malicious.

This particular officer, who went by the name of Lestan de Liviet, was fresh out of _The Academy of Enforcement, _a foolish little subordinate who was a bit of a suck up_. _This man had not even made his first arrest yet, one reason why he had centered out Eponine out of the crowd of passerby and had watched her carefully for the past twenty minutes, like a predator delicately observing its pray before the final kill. In his eagerness, he had tricked his boyish mind into believing that Eponine really had stolen the purchased apple and he was adamant on bringing this false thief to the house of justice so that he could experience his first taste of glory.

"No, I bought it, Miseour." Eponine retorted, trying to pull her thin arm from his grasp. At her resistance, his grip only served to tighten further, sure to leave bruises over her already dappled skin.

"You are mistaken, brat, now come with me and we won't have to make a scene." The officer yanked her to her feet roughly and Eponine tore her arm out of his thick hand, resisting the urge to raise her own hand and strike him across the face. At her command, her hand twitched and clenched into a fist, but did not move to harm the young man.

"I promise you, Miseour, I didn't steal it, I bought it from that man over there." She gestured vaguely with her free hand in the direction of the fruit vendor, glaring at the officer defiantly as she widened her stance slightly in an attempt to appear more solid. a trick one of her father's men had taught her as a child.

"You are lieing, brat, I saw you steal it." He barked, copying Eponine's scowl perfectly as their tempers flared at each other. "Now this is your last chance to come quietly."

"I didn't steal the damn apple!" She exclaimed furiously, the worn soles of her shoes scraping against the hot pavement.

"If this is how you wish to be arrested then so be it."

The officer snorted as he swung her around so that he faced her back and Eponine dropped the apple to the ground as he clasped her wrists in a pair of manacles whose metal was so hot she was sure it would soon burn her flesh.

"Let me go, I didn't steal it!" She shouted at the top of her lungs, only provoking a snicker from the officer as she did so. "Let. Me. GO!" Upon this last word, Eponine kicked backwards into the man's shin and he gave a furious growl before twirling her around again, gripping her arms in his hands as if his fingers were made of iron. He shoved his enraged face into hers, his eyes darkening at once, and she met his glare with an equal amount of hatred.

"I'll just add assault of the authority to your charges then you insufferable wench!" He grabbed her by the shoulder then and attempted to drag her towards the direction of the nearest police office, but Eponine began to let out a heart stopping scream. Anyone who was not aware of the situation would have sworn it came from a soul entwined in mortal agony, she was in so much anguish.

Eponine was terrified of going to prison. In fact, it was her greatest fear next to Marius' death. Many women, a considerable portion of them innocent and convicted falsely like she herself was now, went to prison and came back to the streets changed when they were released, sexually violated night after night by prison guards who snuck their way into the female cells. They were empty and light and seemed to sway dangerously in the slightest breeze like a dying tree. They were hollow women whose souls, modesty, and dignity, had all been stolen. They usually ended up becoming addicted to various opiates and narcotics, things she had been told took away their pain for a short while, and became prostitutes to serve their addictions. If she went to prison, Eponine was sure that carefully preserving herself for the past nineteen years would have been for naught.

And there was something else, as well, she reminded herself, swallowing a lump rising in her throat.

Some women didn't come back at all.

During this dispute, a growing crowd had been gathering, attracted to the noise and hoping for some entertainment. They murmured and squawked amongst themselves at each new development of this arrest, happily contented with this little spice of drama. The man who had sold her the apple was boasting how she had stolen it while he was assisting an ill child. Market goers and other peasants were not the only ones attracted, however. Inspector Javert, who had been patrolling the market with his newly appointed subordinate, was drawn to this noise like a shark is drawn to the smell of blood in water.

Seeing this group of people and knowing that a situation must be dealt with, Javert found himself struck with a sudden wave of exhaustion, though he would never let this become visible to anyone. In truth, Javert was very tired, not only physically but mentally. After failing at suicide, he had attempted to resign from his post, but his superior officer had outright begged him not to, making several points that crime had been down a considerable percent in the years the Inspector had been working on the Paris force. Javert had denied any matter to this, telling his superior officer that he had become corrupt. At his words, the superior officer had almost laughed. There were many corrupt officers on his league, all of which the older man had ignored, and it was true that Javert might have made a wrong conviction here and there but he was by far the least corrupt of the entire brigade. The idea of an officer reporting himself seemed comical.

The two officers had contradicted each other for hours, each making perfectly reasonable points in their debate about Javert's resignation. In short, his superior officer had somehow convinced Javert to remain on the force by adding that he still had his newly appointed subordinate to continue training.

Adding to this, the Inspector had become increasingly restless since the night the girl had pulled him by the back of his coat from his death. He had been suffering from severe insomnia and, in times of sleepless night, he had found his mind wandering to the girl he had kissed in the dark. It had been a completely ridiculous thing for him to do, he knew, and it was completely unlike him to act on impulses, but he had wanted to remember what it felt like to be so close to someone else that he could feel the sweet moisture of their lips on his, even if that other person was just some scrawny girl. He had acted prudently, immaturely, and had no conduct of a gentleman when he had gripped the girl's arms in his hands and pressed his lips against hers. Yet he had enjoyed it slightly and he even had a small inkling afterwards that perhaps she had too. The thought, for some inexplicable reason, pleased him more than he could admit.

The Inspector walked over to the side of the market that was doused in shadow where a ring of people had begun to form. The crowd parted for this fearsome man and instantly silenced itself, his stony eyes immediately killing any chance of a conversation. Only two voices remained speaking, one belonging to his subordinate and the other vastly familiar to the imposing man. It was distressed, high, and thin, but he still remembered it as the voice of the slum girl who had prevented his death.

"Speak of the devil," He murmured to himself.

Javert stepped into the center of this ring to find his subordinate attempting to drag the slum girl away. He watched for a moment as the young man tried to jerk her towards the direction of the police headquarters but she was putting up a fight despite the factor of her arms pulled behind her back and bound in cuffs. She was shouting enough profanity at the man to make a lady faint and he was shouting with equal volume at her, trying to convince her to submit to the arrest. She would have none of it, however.

Javert found himself fighting an amused grin rising to his face at her wildness. She was like a stallion that needed to be broken. Thinking of what would have to be done to break her, though, he found that he no longer had to fight off his grin. It disappeared within moments.

"What in the name of the law is going on here, Liviet?" Shouted Javert and both he and the girl silenced themselves before looking up at him in mutual fear.

"She stole an apple, Inspector, then became violent when I attempted to dispatch her." The young man who Javert referred to merely as 'the boy' stood straight as a board, one hand wrapped around his prey's arm, chest out and chin up, hoping to impress his superior officer with this small triumph.

Javert glanced at Eponine and her brown eyes bore into his own, narrowed under a scowl. In silence, she pleaded and begged for him to release her without dampening that wild spark of willfulness and he found himself admiring her for slightly, the bravery in her eyes even as capable as a man's. Never had he been subjected to this kind of boldness. Of course, nearly every prostitute he had arrested had attempted to seduce him and more than one criminal had bribed him for release, but prostitutes and criminals were daft and desperate and this girl was not. Behind her eyes Javert saw quick wit and intelligence and he admired her again for this. She might not know mathematics, he mused to himself solemnly, but he was sure she knew had to worm herself out of any problem. But there was something else that struck out to him, too. Never had a girl looked into his eyes while under arrest without fear, and this was what made her boldness so striking.

Her infuriated eyes shouted at him in an angry rebellion, perhaps following suit from the men she had often listened to while at Marius' side. The silent words they shouted said one thing, and he could hear it as clearly as if she shouted it. She proclaimed to him in complete silence, "I am innocent."

Noticing the small thing that had caused this entire dispute, Javert bent down and picked up the fallen apple, turning it over in one hand with his other held behind his back. There was a bruise over the edge and it was slightly dusty, but he was sure it was probably perfectly edible, though no aristocrat would probably dare touch it.

"Did you see her steal the apple, Liviet?" He said, not taking his eyes away from the fruit in his hand as his words shocked the crowd at their lack of cruelty.

"Well, no, Inspector, but I know for a fact she didn't have any money to buy it." The young man replied, dutiful, straightening his posture even further.

"Did you ask the vendor if he had sold the girl this apple?" He asked, and the entire crowd gave an almost unison gasp. Never before had they witnessed the Inspector contradict another officer, even if it was his subordinate. They, at once, all jumped to the conclusion that his brain must have finally become addled. In mere moments a rustle of whispers began to sweep through the dense audience, all coming up with lies and questions and fantasies concerning the drama they saw unfolding before them.

"No, Inspector." The man said, quietly, after a moment of distressed silence.

"Is the vendor here?" Javert shouted out, raising his eyes from the reddened apple in his hand to scan the crowd with hard jade eyes. A scruffy looking man in a red and white pin striped waist coat stepped forward, looking feebly into the policeman's honesty inducing eyes.

"Monsieur, did you sell this girl this apple?"

The man nodded respectfully, clasping his hands together as his eyes concentrated on the ground beneath his feet.

"And you were aware this girl was being arrested on the pretense that she stole the apple?" The Inspector asked, each consonant he produced falling sharply on the other man's ears.

The man nodded again, a little guiltily this time, like a child caught in the wrong.

"And you did not inform Officer Liviet that she was innocent in her actions?" He said, quietly, the minute volume of his voice only adding to the dangerous atmosphere settling over him.

The man nodded for the third time, his eyes still devotedly down cast to the cobbled pavement beneath his own worn boots.

"Well," Said Javert, turning his head coolly to his subordinate and the girl. "I think you both owe the girl an apology for the distress you have put her through today."

The crowd stared at him in silent disbelief, jaws slack like common yokels. It was as if they were witnessing the second coming of Christ, this was such an unheard of occurrence. Several witnesses reassured themselves that the Inspector had been possessed by some soft being. Others swore that the Inspector and this girl were actually sleeping with one another and that the little viper had somehow wrapped her filthy hands around this respectable man's conscience. Either way, both theories would only serve to add a false negative to both Javert and Eponine's names, though they would both be unawares of said negatives.

"Apologize, both of you." He commanded, snapping his fingers with his free hand, looking at both men with open distaste and detest.

Both men jumped to their command and did so, humiliated to do the increasingly ugly task of apologizing to a slum girl as if she was some lady of the upper class. Eponine grinned at them both haughtily and tilted her filthy face upwards towards the hot sky, basking in their embarrassment proudly. The subordinate officer scowled at her triumphant stance and she smirked at him defiantly, the left corner of her mouth tilting upwards and making his stomach burn like smoldering coals, his teeth clenching as well.

"Release her." Javert demanded his subordinate, and the young man obeyed the command, cursing his commander under his breath quiet enough so his superior would not hear. "And do not curse me, either. You will not be an officer for long if you continue to disrespect your superiors."

The heavy and hot manacles fell off of Eponine's wrists and she massaged her chaffed skin while smiling gratefully up at the man whom she had saved from death just a few weeks previously. She gave a short nod as if to say thank you and he nodded back at her. This small communication gave further reassurance to the witnesses here that the two were indeed sleeping with each other, and other wave of saucy whispers swept through the assembly.

"Your apple, Ma'amselle." He said calmly, holding the over ripened fruit out to her. She took it from his outstretched hand and muttered a small thank you, her eye brows bent in confusion. Nobody had ever called her Ma'amselle before. Not even Montparnasse when he was trying to get on her good side.

Javert and Eponine stood in this circle of people and watched each other warily, she wary of his authority, he wary of her possible criminality. Encased in one another's gazes, the slum girl and the policeman each silently thought of that simple touch of flesh they had shared in the dark. Beneath the cloak her dirt provided, Eponine began to flush at his stony gaze, thankful for the heat so that people would put it off as mere warmth. His eye were the same as always: stormy, hard, emotionless, but she noticed one small detail, one slip of emotion that surfaced to his pupils and was buried as quickly as it had appeared. This small emotion disturbed both Javert and Eponine, Javert because it was proof that he had lost control for a moment, and Eponine because that emotion was her own world's curse afflicting someone else.

The emotion that Javert expressed momentarily was loneliness.

"What do you all think you're doing?" He shouted, suddenly breaking back into reality and giving the crowd that had been watching them a hostile glare. "All of you go about your business!"

The crowd scattered, afraid to provoke him, and Javert grabbed his subordinate by the sleeve of his uniform.

"Stand over there, boy, and keep a watch on things. I need to talk to the girl in private." He commanded in a deep and serious tone. "And this time don't screw up." He added, harshly, as soon as the young man walked away from him.

Officer Liviet stalked away, seething internally with a righteous anger. He was furious at the girl for making a fool of him and furiouser still at his superior officer for fraternizing with the obviously shady citizen. Leaning against a light pole with his brow still bent in a scowl, he crossed his arms and watched the two of them talk, just within earshot to hear what they said to each other.

"I must thank you." Said Javert, folding his arms behind his back.

"And what would that be for, Miseour? Your prevention of suicide or your kiss?" Eponine said, bitterly, wrapping her arms around herself despite the heat and shifting her weight onto one leg.

When he heard this, Liviet was slightly shocked, both at the information that his superior had attempted suicide and that he had been kissed by this poor girl.

"I think a payment is in order." He said, ignoring her question as he often did when having a conversation with someone.

Liviet found himself shocked again. Perhaps it was not only a kiss the Inspector had participated in, he mused. He would bring it up to his superior later in an attempt to bond with him, but for now his attention was set on the information steadily being leaked to him.

"No payment is necessary, Miseour. My freedom is payment enough and _I _must thank _you _for that."

"I must insist-"

"No payment is necessary, Miseour." She repeated, placing emphasis on each one of her words.

"If _you _insist then, Ma'amselle."

Her brow furrowed again, the split in her lips cracking again so that she raised a hand to her mouth to stem the bleeding.

"Do not mock me, Miseour."

"Mock you? When have I mocked you?" He inquired, raising a thick eyebrow and looking at her curiously.

She smirked at him bitterly, though the bitterness did not reach her eyes. As they always did, Eponine's eyes only spoke her tragedy, and the image seemed to overwhelm the young man watching her from afar so that he found his own gaze falling to the ground, unable to look into her sad depths.

"Ma'amselle, Ma'amselle," Eponine retorted, crossing her arms over her chest, apple still in hand. "I've never been called Ma'amselle before. Not once. Not by anyone. I am no lady, Miseour, in case you haven't noticed."

"Very well then." Javert said, quietly, though his volume no longer suggested danger. "I must return to my duties now."

Eponine nodded and he gave a slight bow before turning and leaving, his subordinate immediately jumping to his side, though Liviet seemed to be unusually silent. When they were both out of sight, she began to look back on the loneliness she had seen in his eyes, the notion still shocking her to leave her feeling completely incredulous. Eponine was not well acquainted with the Inspector. She knew he had no family, but she did not know whether or not he had a mistress or some other woman he loved who did not return his feelings, much like Eponine herself. A fact like this seemed sensible to her at first but she found that she could not imagine the Inspector with any woman in any situation. It was simply too ridiculous.

Shrugging to herself, Eponine bit into her apple with a crunch and watched the Inspector and his subordinate walk away, Javert's red hair easily visible in the crowd.


	5. Chapter 5

"Leave me alone, Montparnasse." Hissed Eponine, removing the overly groomed boy's persistent hand from her waist.

"Ah, come on 'Ponine, just a quick fuck." He answered, running a hand through his suave dark curls and raising his eyebrows to widen his pretty brown eyes.

What a filthy womanizer, mused Eponine, rolling her eyes at his attempt to seduce her. But his tricks won't work on me, she thought to herself, continuing her walk down the deserted street. When most girls of her age looked into Montparnasse's eyes they found him handsome or charming and took a fancy to him, but Eponine had been around her father's gang long enough to know when there was something truly wrong with a person. It was not that he was missing a soul, she had declared to herself one afternoon as she had watched him wipe the blood from his knife after robbing a man. When she looked into his eyes it was not emptiness she saw like in many other people, but it was as if he had spoiled like an egg in the sun. Underneath his beautiful exterior he had rotted out and there was nothing but ugliness left within him.

Glancing up at the smoldering sun in the sky, she heard Montparnasse's footsteps behind her and she sighed with irritation. It was baking hot again and she wanted to get home. Eponine was in no mood whatsoever to deal with this boy right now.

Perhaps if the young criminal of the Patron-Minette hadn't been exactly what he was (a murderer), his relationship with Eponine would be different. They had been friends once, they still were in a strange way, and friendship often leads to deeper things, but when Montparnasse had began to delve himself within the sin of murder, Eponine became revolted at his bloodied hands and his festering soul and morals. Despite this obvious revoltion, however, Montparnasse did not give up his pursuit of the gang leader's daughter. Though she seemed ugly to any other man who cast his glance to her, the young criminal had continued to see her in her childhood beauty. Along with this, Monteparnasse also viewed Eponine as a sort of prize, always just beyond his reach. At a snap of his fingers he would be able to have any girl in the slums. Except for Eponine. This is what made him want her so bad. To him, she was forbidden fruit, and the snake in paradise was constantly whispering in his ear to try her flesh. But, to Eponine, Montparnasse was nothing more than an irritating tick compared to Marius, a constant thorn in her side as long as her heart waned for another.

"Lay off, will you?" She barked, casting him an annoyed glance as she did so.

To her distaste, he replaced his arm back around her waist, capturing her even tighter so that Eponine found she could not shake him off, only further sparking her aggravation.

"I got a place just down that way," Eyes glittering mischievously, he jerked his head to the right, indicating a little alley half cast in shadow. "We could, uh, escape the heat and maybe switch into another one." He said, smoothly, his perfectly carved lips parting ever so slightly so that she caught a hint of his evenly lined teeth.

He grinned at her and she cuffed him over the ear with a soft smack. With a small exclamation of pain, Montparnasse rubbed the side of his head and Eponine took the opportunity to shove him away from her. She made to dart down the street but he grabbed her by the hair and, enraged, he half dragged, half carried her to the alley while she kicked and fought, though not a single plea for help escaped her lips. She managed to slam her fist against his jaw and a dark trail began to drip down his red lip and chin, but this only seemed to infuriate him further. Shoving her against the wall of the alley, Montparnasse pressed himself into Eponine and traced his bloody lips along her neck, leaving thick red streaks against her already mucked skin. Disgusted to feel his erection press against her through his trousers, she felt the urge to scream but wouldn't, instead clenching her teeth to control her tongue. Eponine was too proud to be caught in a situation like this and she doubted anyone would even bother coming to her aid for either fear of Montparnasse or an uncaring attitude towards her. She was, like always, stuck in a situation where she could only rely on herself.

"Get off of me." She growled as he pinned her arms against the wall when she tried to punch him in the face again and pressed his knees into her thighs so that Eponine could not move her legs to harm him.

When did he get so damn strong! moaned Eponine silently, recalling how she had bested him several times before in the past when they had been children scrabbling out of mere boredom.

"Just take it, 'Ponine, you know you want to. I'm ir-re-sistable." Montparnasse snickered conceitedly, running his teeth along her protruding collarbone and tasting the salty flavor of her skin in the heat with a light tongue.

"Don't do this." It was degrading for the proud Eponine to beg but it was becoming increasingly harder to fight against him. "Please!" She shouted when he bit her shoulder, his pale forehead pressed into the surface of her neck with more than a hint of force as he did so.

Ignoring her, Montparnasse slipped a hand under her blouse and a sudden rage ebbed into her limbs, as if someone had just poured boiling water into her very being, igniting some reserve of anger that she could only access in cases of emergency.

"God damn it Montparnasse, if you do this I swear to god I'm going to rip out your throat and hang you by your own damn vocal chords!" She threatened, trying in vain to use her pinned legs t shove him away from her.

"You'd better let her go, boy. I doubt she's lying."

A drip of dread ran down Montparnasse's back, his eyes darkening with fear immediately as he looked over to see the greatest object of fear a criminal could ever posess. Inspector Javert stood in the mouth of the alley way, arms crossed menacingly over his broad chest, one hand clutching his night stick, grinning like the wolf who had caught the cat.

The young criminal made an attempt to mask his fear and gave the policeman a friendly grin, relieving Eponine from her post against the wall. He propped her now weak body up against him and rewrapped his arm around her thin waist with false affection, pulling her close to him to keep her from falling to the ground.

"Hello, Miseour Inspector, it sure is a fine day to be out entertaining my lady." Montparnasse said, grinning with well practiced charm, sparing her a small glance filled with fake fondness. "Is there anything we could help you with this remarkable evening?"

"I am neither blind nor deaf, boy, so you needn't try fooling me." Javert said, a scowl bending his forehead, each consonant falling on the criminal's ears like a serrated knife.

Quick as lightning, Montparnasse shoved Eponine away from him and made a run for it, though Javert was much too quick for the boy to outrun. Grabbing him by the collar of his fashionable threadbare shirt within moments and locking his struggling arms in heavy manacles, Javert laughed darkly to himself. The boy may have been strong compared to the slum girl, but he was no match for the Inspector's immense strength. To Javert, he was as gangly as a twig before an oak.

Along with this small point of hilarity, Javert felt a rush of joy at having finally nabbed this particular criminal. He had been trying to come up for some reason to put him behind bars since he had first noticed the boy years earlier sneaking around with the older men of the Patron-Minette, involving himself in particular suspicious behavior as he grew older. The earlier a citizen involved himself in crime, Javert knew, the worse criminal he would eventually turn out, and it was important to get this sociopath off the streets before he caused serious harm to the good citizens of Paris. And it seemed, by the scene he had just witnessed, that it was perfect timing.

The boy struggled, fought, cursed, and kicked, but it was to no avail. The Inspector held him tight, arms held behind his back and his head trapped in the crook of the officer's arm. When Javert's subordinate, Officer Liviet, entered the scene and assisted his superior in handling the troublesome boy, Montparnasse knew he would not be getting out of his problem. This did not prevent him, however, from elbowing the young officer in training in the gut as his captors switched positions.

"You filthy whore I'll get you for this!" He shouted, sweat pouring down his face under the summer heat, his curls falling over his eyes darkly like a madman's.

His blue eyes narrowing, Officer Liviet whacked the young criminal over the head with his billy club and Javert gave a nod of approval to his subordinate.

While this happened, Eponine stood silently, her back against the wall, watching in shocked disbelief. An image of her father's face upon hearing that she had gotten one of his best men arrested crossed her mind and she snapped back into reality.

"No, no stop!" She shouted at the men, waving her arms frantically around her in a sign of the truly distressed, her eyes wide and her breathing panicked. "You can't do that!"

"Yes, we can." Javert told her, trying to subdue the arrested man further by holding his arms roughly behind his back to keep them still. "This man has attempted to assault you and he must be brought to justice." He said condescendingly, as if she was a child, and she felt her panic and anxiety quickly mature to anger.

If there was one thing Eponine hated, it was being treated like a child. She had suffered and scrapped and seen horror after horror committed. She had grown up many years ago when the frigid hand of poverty clenched her in its fist and she would not be treated like the stupid, naive girl she had once been.

"Don't you patronize me damn it, now let him go!"

It registered somewhere in the back of Montparnasse's mind that Eponine was trying to release him from arrest despite the fact that he had tried to force himself on her. He would not remember this until he was locked well away behind bars, however, but the memory stayed stored somewhere in his deep and muddled thoughts to be reached in a different time.

Javert, giving a sequence of orders to his subordinate regarding dispatching the criminal, ignored Eponine's out of place comment, adding to her fury.

Montparnasse was still shouting and resisting arrest and when he kicked Officer Liviet in the shin, causing the inferior officer to hit him squarely in the head again, his force much harder this time, fueled by rage. Like a child's cloth doll, he collapsed to the ground, a thin trickle of blood painting itself across his forehead. He was knocked out cold. Liviet, proud of his work, looked up at Eponine, having recognized her familiarity, surprised when he saw the look of horror plastered over her face.

"Liviet, go get Reunaldi and take him back to the station." Ordered Javert, and the younger man nodded before scampering out of the alleyway to find the other patrolling police inspector. "Are you alright?" He asked the girl, her deep eyes still staring with some strange terror at the unconscious boy on the ground.

Eponine gave no answer and continued to stare at Montparnasse's lifeless form, kneeling on the uneven street to sit on the hot ground beside him, her hands twisted in the rags of her skirt. Her gaze empty, Javert watched her with fascination. Only minutes ago she had been struggling to fight this boy off of her, and now she seemed in a deep and terrible awe at his evident harm. Shaking his head to himself, he decided that h had never understood people before, so he needn't bother trying now.

"Are you hurt?" He asked her, breathing slightly heavier than usual after grappling with the boy in the heat. Looking into her frantic eyes, he felt like he was watching a rabbit cornered before dying. The dark pupils encased in dark brown irises twitched back and forth, first taking in the blood on Montparnasse's forehead and then the sweat dampened curls beneath the frayed brim of his hat. She was a bit mad, he thought to himself. There could be no other explanation for her behavior.

"Did he hurt you?" Javert inquired, his voice a little louder, grabbing her arm out of slight annoyance by her unresponsiveness. When his gloved fingers wrapped around her bare arm, the girl looked up at him like she had just noticed his presence for the first time, jumping as if startled.

"I'm alright." Eponine said, her husky voice cracking painfully. She cleared her throat and shook her arm out of his grasp, her eyes falling back to the unconscious boy, though they were more secular bound than before. Seeing her filthy skin touching this perfectly clean person disturbed her slightly, and she did not want to look at the man who had, at one time, saved her from rape and condemned her to punishment.

"Are you sure?" She nodded, slowly. "Good." He said, more to himself then to her. "Good."

Eponine went back to watching Montparnasse and Javert waited for his subordinate to return with Reunaldi, recomposing his disheveled uniform which had become rumpled during the criminal's struggle. The Inspector and his subordinate probably did not need extra help carrying the unconscious boy back to the station to incarcerate him, but Javert had had a sudden urge to speak with the girl alone.

"It seems we keep running into each other." He commented, following her stare and watching the criminal, as well. It had been nearly two weeks since his subordinate had attempted to arrest Eponine and he was strangely unsurprised to see her again. He looked at her, almost as if they had known each other for as long as they had both existed, and was suddenly struck by the comfort he experienced around her. Most other humans only served to make him feel uncomfortable, but this was not the case with this particular girl.

"Yes, Miseour. It seems. . . ." Eponine whispered, crouching down and brushing a bloody strand of dark hair out of the criminal's face. She loathed Montparnasse for trying to do what he did to her, but she could not bring herself to stop caring for her former friend. Old feelings of childhood friendship and affection swelled in her as she looked at his face, almost peaceful and innocent while he slept. "My father's going to kill me." She muttered, her voice rough and scratchy.

"Your father?" Javert inquired quietly, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.

"You're well aware of him, I know. You've surely got good tabs on all the criminals in Paris."

"That would depend on who he is." He said, reclaiming that condescending tone he had used on her previously. Though she was irked at this, Eponine ignored it, much like he ignored her obvious irritation at his treatment of her.

"He goes by a few names, Inspector," She whispered to him, careful to keep her voice down. She had learned a long time ago that walls have ears and that it was a sin against God to talk to a policeman, especially in the slums. "Thenard, Thenardier," She swallowed and then grinned up at Javert hollowly. "Jondrette."

"Jondrette? Louis Jondrette is your father?" He asked slowly, mimicking her quiet tone of voice. He was greatly surprised to find that the acquaintance he had developed over the past few weeks was the daughter of one of the most wanted men in Paris. Intrigued and stimulated by this new information, however, he took a step toward her and prompted his mind to begin formulating plots against the criminal now that he could have an inside aid on his hand.

"I'm afraid so." She said, still grinning up at him with that same empty smile. She returned her attention to the criminal, wiping the blood away from his flawless cheek. With a slight start, she felt a large hand place itself on her shoulder in an attempt at comfort, though it still felt cold and distant.

"If you should ever need help, do not be afraid to turn to me. You may think we are even, but I believe I am still in your debt for saving my life." Eponine looked up into the man's face, shocked at the sincerity of his words. Despite this warm offer, his tone was empty, devoid of all emotion, and he was still completely expressionless. He showed no hint whatsoever of the compassion his words offered, but she felt that he meant them to be true. He simply did not know how to be compassionate.

"I did not save your life, Miseour, I merely stalled your death for the time being." She removed his hand from her shoulder and stood up slowly, her knees aching from having crouched down. "We're all going to die eventually, Miseour." She said, bitterly, taking a step backwards away from him. "That is life."

Javert furrowed his brow and looked at her curiously. Before he could question her, however, Officer Liviet returned to the alleyway, Officer Reunaldi in his wake.

"What happened here?" Asked Reunaldi, the older man's thick, black eyebrows curving into a scowl of disgust at the sight of the gamin turned gangster on the ground.

"Sexual assault, I believe. And attempted rape." Said Javert curtly. Eponine felt her face burn under the watch of the three men and she took a strong, proud stance, glad that the grime on her face covered her embarrassed flush while he continued to speak. "The victim claims she is alright."

"I am not a victim." She muttered under her breath, digging her chipped and broken fingernails into the thin flesh of her arms.

"Well, let's get him back to the station and we'll work out a sentence for him." Said Reunaldi gruffly, his black mustache twitching eagerly. Like many other officers, the man loved nothing more than seeing a new face behind bars. He, Liviet, and Javert picked the boy up by his limp arms to drag him back to the station, Liviet's own lack of hesitation at reprimanding the criminal matching his superior's perfectly.

When they turned back to look at the slum girl to offer further assistance, they found not a single trace of her on the street, as if she had never been there to begin with.

* * *

Madeleine Morbeaut, the old widow who lived at the end of the street, had witnessed the entirety of the events by merely glancing out her window which overlooked both the deserted street and the alleyway. As the neighborhood gossip, she did not delay in spreading an exaggerated version of the scene she had seen played out. She told anyone who would stop to listen, and that was nearly everyone for Madeleine Morbeaut was known for her juicy tales, that she had seen that handsome young boy out for a stroll with that ugly Jondrette girl when she had led him into an alleyway. Madeleine went on to weave that the Jondrette girl had then tried to seduce the young boy and when Inspector Javert walked past the alley the hussy had started crying out that she was being raped, no doubt for attention. The Inspector had believed her and he and another officer had beaten the boy cruelly into submission. The other officer had left and then the Inspector had not only gripped the slut comfortingly on the shoulder, but he and the girl had kissed as well before the other officer had returned and they carted that handsome young boy off. Flames that had begun their spark at the girl's last dispute with the law were fanned and beliefs that the two were entwined in a lovers knot raged in a wildfire of rumor.

It was said that Inspector Javert and the ugly Jondrette girl, who were lovers, had set up the arrest to get that handsome young boy off the streets. No man, woman, child, or gamin was at rest in the slums of for fear that they would be next to be placed behind bars. So it was that Eponine, who belonged in no place but the slums, suddenly found herself expelled from her only home.


	6. Chapter 6

Eponine woke up in her apartment the next morning to a knocking at her door.

After Montparnasse had been arrested, she had slipped away from the police and back into the shadows of the gutters. Eponine returned to the little shack she called home and hid herself in the cool of the darkness. Here among the spiders, mice, dust, and mold she felt safe, far way from boys who tried to rape you and fathers who would beat you when they found out you had been involved with the police.

Standing up from her bed, she walked to the door, swaying slightly when the blood rushed to her head. She had gone another day without eating and the effects were starting to wear down at her.

Eponine opened the door wearily, fearing her visitor to be her father with a metal pipe in hand, but it was only her land lady, Mother Judice.

Mother Judice was so old that nobody quite knew her exact age, not even herself. She was a dim being who had survived so long mainly because she did not care if her actions harmed others as long as they suited herself. The old woman had only two teeth left, blackened and stuck in the top and bottom gums of her mouth, protruding slightly from her lips when her mouth was closed. She often enjoyed clicking them together whenever she saw something for her gain. On top of this ugly attribute, she was wiry, bent, and a little lame where her now deceased husband had broken her leg when he was drunk. Nobody was quite sure how Father Judice had passed, only that it was sudden, unexpected, and that his widow did not mourn his loss for long.

It so happens that Mother Judice was a good friend of Madeleine Morbeaut.

Mother Judice stood in Eponine's rented doorway now, clicking her two teeth together happily. This old woman was happy for one particular reason. She, like many other souls, felt great pleasure at another man's misery. It was the only source of entertainment for the old woman besides a grubby , frayed pair of playing cards. She was delighted to imagine the ugly little gang girl in distress.

"Can I help you?" Asked Eponine, blocking the light of day from her tired eyes, now accustomed to darkness.

"Hello, sweetheart," She said kindly, like one of those good old ladies who take it upon themselves to become the grandmother of every child in a neighborhood. "I couldn't help but overhear about your certain. . . relationship with Inspector Javert." She paused to chuckle for a moment. "I've got to say as long as you're with him you won't be needin' to say here for much longer." Her voice lilted and she winked at Eponine.

"What?" Said Eponine, her eyebrows twisting in a confused and concerned scowl.

"I'm evictin' you, sweetheart." The old woman said, losing her kind tone.

"What?" Eponine asked slowly, her stomach sinking.

"You have the rest of the day to get out. I can't have your kind around, sweetheart, I run a respectable business in these parts."

"You can't do this! I don't have any place to go!"

"That's not my problem, sweetheart. Why don't you get a place from your lovely Inspector?"

"Lovely Inspector? You're talking nonsense."

"Oh come on, dearie, you don't have to pretend with me I know all about your little love affair with Inspector Javert."

"Love affair?" Eponine exclaimed. "There's no love affair!"

Just like a slut to deny her relations, thought the old woman to herself wryly, clicking her teeth together even more happily when the girl became more and more upset, wringing her hands and shifting from foot to foot.

"You've got a day to get out," Mother Judice said sternly. "And if I see your face 'round my property after that I'll call your father and tell him you're givin' me trouble."

Eponine felt her stomach sink. The old woman was not lying, she knew. Mother Judice and Thenardier knew each other well enough and the devious man would not miss out on an opportunity to relieve some of his stress by giving his daughter a good beating. The ugly bruises had not left Eponine's legs and arms since the last time she had missed her rent payment.

"Alright, Ma'am." She muttered, running a hand through her long, tangled hair.

Mother Judice said her farewell and made to go back across the street where her own ugly little shack sat in a heap.

Eponine did not bother taking any of her belongings with her when she left her little hovel. As soon as she found another place to live she would get her things and transport them.

Glaring up at the sky like a wretch glaring up at God, she examined the clouded vastness as it began to rain. It was one of those strange days where the sun shone, yet rain clouds still persisted in the sky, threatening to drop their wet load down on the city and its people. On a better day, Eponine would have gladly stood in this warm rain in her little side yard and beholded the strange phenomenon, taking note of each drop cleaning the sweat and dirt off of her skin, and dreaming that Marius was with her, romantically kissing her in the rain after telling her he loved her and that he always had and that Cosette meant nothing to him. She would smile and dance and twirl in the rain with Marius in her mind's eye after he had promised they would always be together. She would perform her own little silent ballet while the warm rain transformed her from a homely poor girl into a beautiful water goddess. However, today was not a better day and Eponine cursed the rain. It would only interfere with her trying to find a new home.

What a quest this was for a girl without friends. Azelma, who was sort of her friend, still lived with the girls' parents and Eponine could not stand to go under the degradation of living with her pro creators again. That, and she highly doubted her mother and father would take her in. She literally had not a single person in the world to go to. Perhaps in another time, as a last resort, she would have gone to Marius and asked for his help, humiliated to show him weakness. She had learned previously that the object of her affections had been returned to his grandfather and that he was still recovering from being wounded at the barricades. There was no possible way she could show up on his doorstep. She already knew what his family would think of her. She was nothing but a hussy, probably just some girl Marius had been sleeping with.

Without a person or place to turn to, Eponine wandered the streets, her arms wrapped around herself as the warm sky water trickled against her shoulders, feeling ice cold in her misery.

"Nobody loves me." She crooned to herself in the low, scratchy tones of her contralto voice.

An image of a man standing on the parapet of a bridge above the river crossed her mind and Eponine thought vaguely of suicide, however she was only fooling herself. She was too used to misery to ever go through suicide. Misery, like anything else, becomes bearable over can get used to anything, misery especially. When you have had nothing but bad luck for nearly your entire life, you expect nothing but bad luck and when misfortune is rolled your way at the gambling table of life, you bear with it until another even more unfortunate event comes along that must be accustomed to. Looking forward to nothing but tribulations is a sad way of life, but it is the way of life for many people, including Eponine. These citizens of depression are the dregs at the bottom of the tea cup of society, living day after day, waiting for something other than themselves to end their pitiful life because the sad fact is is that they are too used to misery to ever attempt to escape it on their own. They are trapped like the lark in the cage, no longer singing because it has no hope and no happiness. It is a dull, gray way of life, but these people's hearts will not stop beating. Why? Nobody knows why. They just do.

Groaning momentarily as the rain soaked through her blouse, Eponine shook her head like a filthy cur ridding its ears of water and she stepped into a little side street. Though her head was down and her gaze cast to the poorly paved ground, something caught her eye. Criminals who have worked together always recognize each other and right now Eponine clearly saw five men her father usually worked with. When asked, she could not have given their names, however. She had always been poor with remembering names, a bad trait in a person, a good trait in a criminal. Numerous times when she had been arrested and taken to Les Madellonettes, she was questioned thoroughly about the accomplices in various crimes she had participated in, but she would not tell, because she could not tell.

These five shady men stood in the doorway of some crumbling house, heads inclined to each other so close their foreheads touched. They were giving mischievous glances to three policeman standing on the opposite side of the street who were, in turn, glaring at these suspicious men, waiting patiently for one of them to step out of line and make their job more exciting. Eponine immediately recognized Javert's subordinate, Lestan de Liviet, and beside him she thought she recognized Inspector Javert himself, though she could not make a proper identification since his token fiery red hair was covered up by the bi cornered hats typical of the higher ranking officers.

Stepping into the shadows where she would not be noticed and associated with these criminals, Eponine watched the policeman silently, crossing her arms over her damp chest and particularly observing the man whom she suspected was Inspector Javert. She, like most other woman, had never noticed the subtle handsomeness the man held about him. He himself did not know he was handsome, so it was not exactly apparent to anybody else who viewed him, but now Eponine caught a glimpse of his ruggedness. Closing her eyes, she imagined his face in the dim light of her little apartment. Picturing the strong curve of his nose, the intellect and observance in his smoldering green eyes, the cleanly shaven face with skin like porcelain, his warm, moist lips against her own, she felt a sudden rush of blood in between her legs and her eyes shot open with a start.

Crossing her legs tightly and clearing her throat, Eponine stared at the ground embarressedly. It was not like her to think about those kinds of things, and with Inspector Javert of all people especially! Her arousal was completely ridiculous, she told herself as her stomach twisted slightly and her face colored. Although, for a strange moment, Javert replaced Marius in her usual fantasy and she imagined herself and the Inspector in an intimate sense, a pleasure she did not often give herself as she was a God fearing girl. He was a large man, he would be heavy on top of her, and he seemed like the type of man who would be loud in his bed. Though she was a virgin, she knew enough about sex to assume that the law man would also like pain with his pleasure. He would want to be scratched, bitten, clawed, maybe even burned while making love, Eponine mused to herself, and then regretted it immediately. Imagining herself with another man was like infidelity towards her relationship with an imaginary Marius.

Eponine lifted her eyes to see the five criminal men walking over to the policeman. They sauntered up to them with a confident swagger and the three law men crossed their arms over their chest in unison. One of the men started speaking to Officer Liviet casually, gesticulating comfortably as if the two were friends. From her post at the end of the street, she could see the young man scowl and give the vocally free criminal a haughty sneer. She watched as one of the other shady men slowly reached into the back pocket of his ragged coat and withdrew a billy club. One of the officers shouted right before he was promptly whacked over the head. He crumpled to the ground and a fight broke out.

Eponine did not know what came over her, but when she saw one of the criminals raise a knife to the face of the officer whom she thought was Javert, she ran with full force towards the fight. She grabbed the hair of the man with the knife and yanked his head backwards. The man was so caught off guard that he had no time to react as she slammed his face in the ground hard enough to break his nose, and a sickening crack was heard. The man groaned and she slammed his face into the ground again. She repeated this movement until he lost consciousness and was immersed in a sticky red pool. She felt someone grab her hair and slam her into the wall and a deep, throaty voice shouted at her, although she could not hear them for the blood pounding in her ears. A fist collided with her face before the man shoving her against the wall disappeared, yanked away by one of the officers. Somewhere far away, Eponine heard a pistol go off.

When the scuffle was through, Eponine looked up to see four men laying on the ground, one of them the first police officer who was hit, the other three all criminals, the rest having fled from their attempted robbery. Her eyes were attracted to a small scarlet puddle that was growing increasingly larger against the uneven pavement. She looked up into the startled blue eyes of Officer Liviet. There was a large amount of blood smeared across the navy front of his uniform, and small red drops splattered their way across the bridge of his nose and cheekbones, like strange, rouge freckles.

"You're hurt, you've been shot." She choked out, finding it hard to breathe, and he looked at her with utter confusion. "Somebody get a surgeon!"

She looked at the other officer and found with a slight shock that it was not Javert. The two did not even resemble each other. Both men were staring at her front and she looked down, thinking that perhaps her blouse had gotten ripped during the fight and her chest was exposed.

Her eyes widened. It was not Liviet who had been shot, but herself. At the sight of the blood gushing out of her abdomen, Eponine fainted.

* * *

**Wow reviewers, you make me so happy! Disneyland, you say? That is quite a compliment. I really love writing this story and it makes me so pleased to hear other people enjoy it. Thank you all. Here is a happy face for you. (/=u=)/ **

**I am very open to suggestions in the plot line and I would love to hear ways you think I could improve upon this story. If you want anything included in the story just leave it in a review or private message me.  
**

**Thank you again. TTFN.  
**


	7. Chapter 7

Eponine's initial thought when she woke up was that her head felt very heavy, and that she could not feel the rest of her body very well.

"She's waking up." A far away voice murmured, and a cold wet rag was placed on her forehead.

"Be very quiet." A woman whispered. "We don't want to agitate her."

"Of course, sister." Replied the first voice, one dynamic lower.

Blinking her eyes open slowly, she was blinded by the sudden light that grazed her pupils and she forced her eyes back shut. Eponine began to cough roughly and a strange sensation flooded her as two warm, gentle hands pressed he firmly against the back of something large and impressionable. The world at her finger tips seemed cottony, as if the entire world had gone hazily soft. She felt light, floaty, as if she was an angel lazily lounging on a bed of cloud. In the back of her mind she wondered if she was dead.

A small screech flooded her ears and the light behind her eyelids dimmed. Fluttering her eyes open, Eponine found she was laying on a cot in a small, completely blank room. Looking up, her eyes met with the same gorgeous blue eyes she had looked into right before she had fainted. There were no longer red freckles smeared across Officer Liviet's face, but he was still wearing the same navy blue uniform soiled by her blood. There were dark circles underneath his eyes. Looking around her, Eponine saw several other men gathered around her bedside, all wearing the same policeman's uniform. They stood watching her silently, faces serious and arms tucked behind their backs, waiting vigil for her as if she was a fellow officer wounded while on duty.

Looking down at her abdomen, she saw she was dressed in a thin, starkly white gown with a blanket pulled up to her waist. The red-brown glow of well used bandages shone through the soft fabric just below her ribcage on the right side of her body.

"How are you feeling?" Asked a light, feminine voice. A nun removed the cold rag from her forehead and replaced it with a fresh one, all the while standing comfortingly by her side. Her auburn hair was hidden behind her cap and her kind, brown eyes were glazed over with the virtue and innocence only capable of a virgin. She was an older woman with a slight wrinkling around her eyes. She was calm and caring but occasionally, when the health of her patients was at stake, she would become increasingly stern.

"I can't feel anything." She said, her voice coming out as a croak.

"Good." The nun whispered condescendingly."Good. Do you remember what happened?"

Eponine nodded weakly.

"Is she capable of speaking, sister?" Asked Officer Liviet. He was the only man seated and a bruise was swirling itself over his cheekbone, probably a reward from the fight he had gotten into.

"As long as you don't upset her." She said softly, gathering herself as if she was going to leave. "If you start to feel any pain, dear, get one of these kind men to fetch me."

"Sister?" Croaked Eponine, her hand twitching slightly as if it wanted to grab onto the virgin's black sleeve.

"Yes, my dear?"

The wounded girls brown eyes looked into the nuns, half filled with fear and half filled with hope. She was afraid because she feared the prospect of death. It is the greatest natural instinct in human nature. She was hopeful because she no longer wanted to live, another common instinct of the miserable. It was a conflicting storm and it raged within her like fire and water, each emotion fighting each other with all possible strength. The result was a great feeling of anxiety burrowed into Eponine's soul.

"Am I going to die?" Eponine muttered, as if hoping that the men in her room would not hear her.

The nun smiled softly and gripped the girl's hand reassuringly.

"You're in God's favor."

Gathering herself again, she left, her footsteps completely silent against the floor. Beside Eponine, just behind where the nun had been standing, there was a plain cabinet with several drawers, all closed.

"Eponine?" Officer Liviet said, smiling gently when he noticed her attention wandering around the room, taking in each man's face.

"Yes, Monsieur?" She asked, not looking at the young man who was talking to her.

"I have to offer you my gratitude."

"May I ask for what, Monsieur?" Eponine said slowly, her voice starting to lose its gravelly tone. She started coughing again and one of the men handed her a glass of water, also taking the time to give her a small smile.

Officer Liviet laced his fingers withing each other and looked at her gently, as if afraid that if he did not look at her softly enough he would cause her physical pain. Eponine's eyes narrowed in irritation. She was not some weak flower. My God, she hissed to herself, she had seen enough disturbing crime to make even the strongest man's hair curl! Who were these men to treat her like she was some lady?

"When. . . when you involved yourself in the fight you blocked a bullet from me." Officer Liviet said simply.

"It was surely unintentional, Monsieur." Eponine said, slowly closing her eyes and leaning her head back against the pillow her neck was propped up against.

"Be that it may, you still saved his life. We are all very thankful." Said another officer, one whom she did not recognize very well. It was usually Javert who patrolled her part of the city and he seemed absent from today's assembly.

The men thought she had drifted back to sleep for a moment but the girls eyes blinked open again slowly.

"How did you know my name?" She asked slowly, rolling her head to face Officer Liviet.

With a small incline of the head, he motioned to another officer. This officer stared at the young man confusedly for a moment and a sudden realization dawned on his face. Stepping out of the way, Eponine could clearly see Inspector Javert leaning against the closed window, playing idly with the chord of the venetian blinds, wrapping it around his gloved hand and lacing the string through his fingers. He looked at her as if bored, the slightest sneer permeating his pale face as it always did.

"I think the Ma'mselle and I would enjoy a private audience." He said quietly, his words sharp and precise. Eponine was grateful that he did not speak to her like the rest of these men did, like she was some stupid feminine ingrate. However, she felt an inexplicable fear about being alone with this intimidating man.

When the rest of the men hesitated at their leave, his sneer grew and Javert raked his hands down the blinds so that they made strange clapping sounds against the covered window pain. "You should all get back to duty. I've been tolerating your absences long enough." The men began to file out and the young man seated beside her bed gave her a small nod before standing. "Go home and get some sleep Liviet. You look terrible."

Officer Liviet murmured a 'Yes, sir.' before following the other officers out of the tall, wide door on the right of the room.

"Thank you for saving my subordinate." Javert said slowly, abandoning neither his post at the window nor the sneer on his face.

"You are cross with me, I see, Monsieur. But I am wondering why. Ah, well, at least the feeling is mutual, right Monsieur? Mutual feelings are always good. It is easier to be angry at someone else when they are angry with you yourself." She swallowed and her hand played with the soft white linen at her fingertips. "It is easier to love someone when they love you as well." Eponine said gravely.

"You were talking of anger. Whatever made you think of love?" He asked her quietly, slightly intrigued by this strange girl. Providence had repeatedly driven her to him, but for what reason?

"I was talking of mutual feelings, Monsieur." Eponine said slowly. "But why are you cross with me?"

"Cross. . . ." Javert said, his hand still fiddling with the blind chord. "I am not cross. Merely annoyed."

"Why are you annoyed with me, Monsieur?"

Javert's eyes narrowed slightly and he did a disturbing thing. He smiled at her. Eponine had only ever seen him smile when he was about to arrest someone and she felt a chill run down her spine. Was he going to arrest her? If so, what for?

"You are a troublesome girl." He said idly. "You find chaos easily."

"I do not find it, Monsieur, it finds me." She retorted, forgetting her place for a moment.

With a small exclamation, she clapped a hand to her side as a searing pain shot through her body. Eponine touched her wound and immediately regretted it as the pain worsened. Javert walked to her bedside slowly, observing each movement and facial expression she made while in pain, his green eyes boring into her, fascinated by her agony.

"Why are you cross with me?" He asked quietly, hands resting calmly at his side while she writhed silently.

"I am cross, Monsieur," Eponine choked out, gripping the white sheets of her bed so hard her knuckles turned white. "I am cross because I have been exiled from my only home because. . . because everyone thinks that we are currently sleeping with each other." She grunted and panted while carving out this phrase and he admired her silently for bearing with her discomfort so boldly. He would have expected any other woman to cry and scream.

The wave of pain crested and then receded and her grasp of the linen lessened. With his back turned to her, Javert began to pull out the drawers of the cabinet by her bedside, seeming to observe each drawers contents curiously. Though she could not see what he was doing, Eponine heard small metallic noises here and there.

"I see. . . ." Javert murmured after a moment, his back still turned to her. "And why does _everyone _think that?"

"I don't know," She whined as another ounce of pain registered itself in her body. "I don't know."

"So. . . you are, as you say, _cross _with me because it is my fault you have been, as you say, _exiled _from your only home."

"Yes," She spat. "I mean- no. I don't understand what you're saying."

"How is it my fault that people think we are sleeping with each other?" He asked her casually, as if commenting on the weather. "What have I done to imply such a vulgar thing?"

"I don't know, Monsieur, I don't know."

In reality, Eponine knew exactly what Javert had done to make the gossip prone people of the slums assume they were sharing a bed. He had been seen with her in public, not once, but twice, both of which occasions he had acted completely harmless towards her, a complete rarity as Inspector Javert was known for his distaste of the girls of the slums. They said he saw them all as nothing more than potential prostitutes, dirty, ugly girls who would only ever cause him trouble. Despite this cruel condemnation, there was a bit of truth behind Javert's feelings. Many of the girls _would _become prostitutes.

Eponine just did not want to tell the Inspector this, however, so she withheld this slightly embarrassing piece of knowledge. It was humiliating enough to tell him about her exile and the reason for it. At one time she was half pleased that she was in Javert's favor, and half irritated because it had caused all of the people she knew to distrust her.

"You have no place to go." He said, still messing with the cabinet.

"Yes."

"Not a single place?"

"Not. One." Eponine whispered bitterly, casting a glare to Javert's back.

"You needn't worry any longer. You will become my ward, you will live in my home and my debts will be repaid."

Her brow furrowing, it was Eponine's turn to sneer.

Another wave of pain consumed her and she gritted her teeth, refusing to let any sound save a huff of air escape her. As the harrowing consumed her, Javert turned and watched her distressed state. In one large, black gloved hand he held a syringe, in the other a small jar filled with a clear liquid, its lid missing, laying somewhere on the top of the cabinet.

"Don't be ridiculous." She said, glaring up at him with all the confidence and bravery extreme agony can give a person.

"Why not?" Javert said, dipping the tip of the syringe into the jar and drawing the liquid into its cylinder. "It's a perfectly reasonable solution. For the both of us."

It was indeed the perfect solution. There were many things Javert could not stand, one of which was being in debt. The past few weeks he had been unsettled knowing that he owed this girl something for saving his life. The girl needed a home. He would give her one. However, Javert told himself sternly, this did not mean he would enjoy having the girl in his company. She would be annoying, he told himself. She would be talkative, needy, heedless of boundaries and then of course when people saw the two living together it would reassure the citizens of Paris that they were lovers. Rumors would spread, no doubt, and he may even be slightly discredited. But he was willing to sacrifice all of this to repay his debt, especially now that his debt had become even larger. Javert did not ignore the fact that this girl had saved his subordinate now as well. He would have to do this, otherwise he would continue to spend each night laying awake in bed, fervently thinking of the girl who had stopped him from killing himself, tossing and turning in his sheets while unable to banish her filthy face from his mind.

While Javert was thinking of this, Eponine could think of only one thing. Marius filled her mind's eye. Inspector Javert was in the same social rank as Marius and his family. The young, handsome boy was poor, she knew, but he held the title of baron. His family was rich. Javert and Marius would probably frequent each other's circles, invited to the same dinners and parties and other social events. In abbreviation of her pain muddled and frantic thoughts, if Eponine lived with Inspector Javert, she would have a greater chance of seeing Marius again. She did not list pros or cons, only thinking of his one factor. It elated Eponine to think that she would have a chance to see her love again.

She thought of nothing else.

"Alright, Monsieur." Eponine whispered. Javert watched her as her eyes drifted to the ceiling, her mind lost in some far away place. "Alright."

"Alright," He repeated, raising the filled syringe to his eyes, letting a few drops of the precious liquid escape to drip onto the ground. "In the meantime, let's focus on you recovering. You are currently in the best hospital in Paris and I'll be damned if you saved my and my subordinate's lives for nothing."

Raising her arm, Javert felt for a vein and found a prominent one just beneath the surface of her skin. Sinking the needle into her flesh, she let out a soft sigh as the opiate flooded her system, making her limbs feel impossibly heavy. He watched as her eyes began to dim considerably. Slowly, he brushed a stray strand of dark hair out of her face. He made to leave, thinking that the comfort of sleep had at last overcome her, but when he tried walking away a small hand gripped his arm tightly.

She's strong, Javert remarked to himself.

"Inspector?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you." Eponine whispered, her eyes still closed and her lips slightly parted, her hand still clutching his arm.

"Of course." He whispered back.

Who knows, he thought to himself. Maybe I can make a lady out of her.

* * *

**I have to apologize in advance. The next chapter... is sooooo long. Nearly 4,000 words. I'm so sorry. The muse was inspiring me and I was watching The Breakfast Club while writing it and I just... couldn't stop. I'm so, so sorry.  
**

**Thank you as always for reading this rag. It means a lot to me. TTFN, reviewers.  
**


	8. Chapter 8

Eponine spent the next few weeks in and out of the hazy world of narcotics. Though she could not recall most of her waking moments, she did sometimes see Inspector Javert seated at her bedside, idly flipping the pages of one book or another. During these times where he stood vigil beside her, she often wondered why he was there. Did he not have duties to attend to? Yes, he did. Was she not just some lowly girl of the slums? Yes, she was. So why did he stay by her side? Javert would answer that he felt obligated. Why did he feel obligated? He would not be able to answer as he did not know himself. He simply felt obligated.

Once, when she had been in a lot of pain and the physicians had decided to increase the dosage of pain killers she received, she had lost some of her morals and had lost all lucidity. All in all, Eponine had gotten a bit too free with her hands, running them over Javert's pale face and red hair, repeatedly telling him that he was very soft. When he finally lost his tolerance of this, Javert walked away from her room feeling slightly molested. He prayed that she would not remember the occasion and promised himself that he would never bring it up to her in case she ever tried to attempt the act again.

On another occasion, when she had been slightly more lucid, she had rambled on to Javert strangely.

"I wonder if he ever thinks about me? Do you think he ever thinks about me, Monsieur? I don't think so. He has the Lark to occupy him, and then you had told me he had been wounded. It was quite serious, I was told, he hurt his shoulder and was grazed by a bullet. He lives with his family again, with a grandfather and an aunt. I learned that because sometimes during the day I would sit outside and watch their house. It was hot sitting out in the sun but it was worth it if I even chanced a glimpse of him, I told myself. But then I never saw him. He is still recovering, Monsieur, and it has been a long time. I have lost track of the time, though, Monsieur. Is it still summer? Or perhaps it is autumn, now, but I can't recall how long ago it was since he was wounded."

Javert did not really know what she was talking about. He could only conclude that she was infatuated with some boy who had been wounded at the barricades, particularly the one whom Jean Valjean had saved.

Though he was lost in her words, he nodded and reassured her in whatever she was troubled about. Her words had a strangely wandering and sad air to them and it made the policeman who was usually as strong as the alpha wolf in a pack strangely weak. When she spoke to him this way, not giving him a word in edgewise, he felt a pit beginning to form in his stomach. He told himself first that it was merely out of pity, but a sly voice whispered into his ear that it was pain. This type of pain is completely extraordinary. It is the kind of pain born from sympathy towards one you have become attached to. The pain of the person you pity becomes your own and it is almost unbearable. Javert first told himself that this pain was ridiculous. He was certainly not attached to her and he did not even know why he pitied her. It was certainly not because she was poor; he had seen many poor people in worse conditions, and it was not that she had been shot; he had seen many people who had been shot in worse states. No, it was the way Eponine spoke that made him begin to feel this pain sprung from pity. In every word she spoke she could tell she was suffering some sort of internal agony that extended beyond her physical pain. He had never seen someone in so much pain and it frightened him.

This tumult of emotion within him unhinged Javert slightly. He had never felt like this before. If there is anything man kind fears, it is the unknown, and he was in completely unfamiliar territory. All at once by her side he felt ill, nauseous, and dizzy and had had to excuse himself from her presence to get some fresh air. Standing outside cleared his head enough and Javert banished all of these strange new feelings within him into the vault which most troubled people posses, that vault which a person buries unwanted memories, images, and emotions in. This method is unhealthy for the brain, but it works well enough.

When Javert had returned to her room, he had found Eponine fast asleep. Before he left, however, he had stood leaning slightly over her bed, observing her. Throughout her stay at the hospital she had begun to fill out slightly. She was no longer agonizingly thin, but she was still still considerably skinny. In fact, Javert doubted she would ever be able to withstand a normal weight. Along with this, the nuns had cleaned her up. When the filth that coated her skin had been washed away, porcelain skin was revealed, though she had a scalded state, as if she was suddenly deprived of protective layers of dirt. Her hair, which had previously looked black, was actually a charming chocolate brown. Freckles also sprinkled themselves across the bridge of her nose and her cheek bones, though they did not marr her appearance. Actually, they seemed to give her some sense of attractiveness. Along with the beauty her eyes possessed, she could no longer be considered ugly. She was merely homely.

Events like these repeated themselves and weeks slipped through his fingers like water. He had begun to formulate a routine. Javert would get up in the morning, heavily tired from lack of sleep, go to work, go to the hospital to visit the girl until night fall when she fell asleep, return home, finish all kinds of paperwork by candlelight, then collapse onto his bed in the small hours of morning, unable to think of nothing but the strange things that had begun to swirl inside him when he was near this girl. Though he did not realize it, he was going through the same experiences as a new parent.

Just when he had become accustomed to this routine, however, several weeks had passed and Eponine's wound had made great progresses towards had learned some days after the first time she had woken up that the bullet had been removed by a surgeon, and there was nothing but the stitches pulling her entry wound together that remained of her injury. Living in the gutters had strengthened her immune system and soon she was well enough to walk short distances. Soon after, she spent more time walking than laying in bed, which meant she was well enough to be released from the hospital. Javert usually commuted from the police station to the hospital by foot, but when he learned that the girl was able to leave the care of the nuns, he called for a carriage.

On the day she was released, he found her sitting on the bed in her room, her feet swinging back and forth like a child's. She looked up at him silently, her eyes wide and glassy, her back hunched over slightly as if fearing scorn, once again assuming the position of the miserable. Again, we must recall that Eponine was one of those common people who constantly expect misfortune, and she awaited it now as much as ever. While Javert stood in the doorway imposingly, solid as a rock like always, she expected him to suddenly tell her that she would be returning to the streets, that he had changed his mind and that she no longer had a place to stay in his home.

Her lips parted slightly with disbelief when Javert held out his hand for her without saying a word, his green eyes serious, intense, concentrated. Eponine stood from the bed and he looped his arm through hers, an action that felt unfamiliar to both of them, Eponine because such courtesy had never been offered to her before, and Javert because he had never bothered to socialize so closely with a woman. Despite his previous promises that he would be married, he had not yet found any woman to his liking.

He escorted Eponine down the wing in which she had stayed silently, her new boots making soft sounds against the tiling, a good change from the mangled, warped mounds of leather she had worn before. When she had begun to walk again, Javert had brought her several outfits to wear while wandering the many halls of the hospital. At first it had been strange being dressed in these feminine garments, seeming so heavy on her shoulders and hips compared to her previous rags, but, like everything else, she had grown accustomed to them. She had even enjoyed wearing these clothes slightly, smiling at the way the soft fabric of the skirts and petticoats felt against her legs and the way the blouses buttoned up over her chest, at once modest and fashionable. She dreamed wildly that they may even make her look somewhat pretty, though she condemned these dreams quickly. Her, pretty? Ridiculous.

The two of them stepped outside and Eponine discovered a shock of rain. While she had been recovering, summer had died, giving way to a brisk autumn. For a minute she wondered what her family had been doing while she was recovering and if they knew what had happened to her. She did not really bother thinking much about her parents. Rats will always find one way or another to thrive. It was Azelma she was concerned about. She's frail, Eponine told herself, and a little dim sometimes when it comes to people. Remembering the baker's son who never failed to please her with a roll or, at most, a slightly stale loaf of bread, she felt a little bit at ease, though she was still anxious. Since her parents had begun to work in the putrid business of crime, it had been Eponine who had raised and looked after Azelma, but since she had been preoccupied with certain bullet wounds, Eponine had had no time to see her sister was safe.

This troubled girl was brought back to reality when she realized she was being ushered into a fine looking taxi. Stepping into the cab with assistance from Javert, Eponine sat back on a plush, velvet seat. Javert took the seat opposite her and, instead of folding her hands in her lap like a lady, she ran her hands over the soft fabric of the seat, appreciating the way it felt against her bare hands. She looked up at Javert and he raised a single red eyebrow, his face quizzical, questioning, his eyes unable to hide amusement.

"Soft." She explained.

"Yes." He said in agreement, though he had never bothered to notice the quality of the seats before. Though his hands were gloved and he could feel nothing but the warm leather cloaking his hands, he found himself running his fingers over the velvet as well.

As the carriage made its way to Javert's estate, Eponine suppressed a wince each time the carriage jolted, either from running through a pothole or hitting a bump in the cobbled road, too prideful to let the man across from her see any weakness she may posses. Though she was unaware of it, Javert was perfectly attentive to her reaction whenever she suppressed these showcases of pain. He noted each time her fist balled itself up in her skirt, each time her jaw tightened, no doubt from her teeth clenching, each time her feet shifted. He praised her silently again for her strength. All the other woman he knew annoyed him. They were frail, selfish, stupid, but not this one. She was willful, sensible, witty in the street fashion, and she was keenly observant. Her flashing brown eyes took in every detail around her with he attentiveness of a scientist and the ease of a poet. And she was appreciative as well. Had he ever heard _anyone _comment on the softness of something? No, of course not. Most people born in splendor do not appreciate it until it has been snatched away from them.

The taxi slowed to a stop and, instead of waiting for the driver to open the door for him, Javert did it himself and stepped out abruptly. He held out a hand for Eponine and she took it. After she had stepped out he held her hand for a prolonged moment, forgetting that he held it, and when Javert realized he let go hastily. If he was capable of blushing he would have done it then.

Eponine stood at the entrance of a large, wrought-iron gate, looming above her challengingly, as if daring every thief in Paris to climb it and impale themselves on the spikes above. She stared at this fence while Javert unlocked it with a heavy looking metal key. Pushing the heavy structure open he looked back at the girl, though she did not budge from where she stood. Beyond the gate she could see a a lush garden and, behind that, a large brick house, nearly a manor. She had known that the Inspector was wealthy, but not this wealthy.

"What's the matter?" Javert asked her.

"This isn't right, Monsieur. Me living in a place like this. It's absurd. I'm filth, I'm slime, I'm dirt, I can't, Monsieur. I just-"

"Filth does not pull a man from his death. Slime does not save a young man's life in a street scuffle. Dirt," He had nearly shouted the last word, and Eponine jumped involuntarily. Both his gaze and his voice softened. "Dirt does not display intelligence, will, charm," If he did not catch himself going on about her, Javert would have continued. He was surprised at himself. Why was he praising this girl so thoroughly? She was just some woman he had picked up off the streets, nothing more.

He was silent for a moment, scrambling for something to say, and Eponine watched him, fascinated as his breathing quickened and his eyes dropped to the ground. She had neve seen him act this way before and she was slightly wary. Is he ill, she murmured to herself silently, has he gone mad? Slowly, he looked back up at her, his green eyes once again composed.

"You are not filth or slime or dirt." She opened her mouth to speak but he continued before she could say anything. "Come inside, won't you? I would like to tell you something but it is too public out here."

Eponine nodded her consent and he took her arm again, slightly more confident now that he knew he ha done it before. He led her briskly over the brick walkway that ran its course through the enchanting garden. Opening the door with a key that seemed twin to the one that unlocked the gate, he held the door open before her and she stepped into his home. He followed behind her, softly closing the door behind him.

What she saw took this poor girl's breath away and all she saw was on small room connected to a hall and leading into an upwards staircase. But it was beautiful all the same. The floors were an exotic hardwood and the walls were completely unfurnished and unpainted, left a natural, peaceful brown. On the floor was a simply woven, simply designed Persian rug. It was plain, but charming. To Eponine, this bland splendor seemed a great beauty.

She was in awe.

"You are not filth or slime or dirt," Javert repeated. "And even if you were, you would be able to change that."

Ripping her eyes away from this simple scenery, Eponine stared at Javert.

"Don't be strange, Inspector." She said.

"I'm not. I know from personal experience." Eponine looked at him, intrigued. She was silent and he continued. "I was born to an inmate of a prison. A gypsy, to be exact. My mother, my adoptive mother, that is, was visiting my father at his work. He was head officer at the prison where I was born, you see. She heard me crying." He paused thoughtfully, his eyes wandering to the Persian rug. "She and my father had not been able to produce children of their own and when she heard me crying. . . ." He paused again, as if contemplating difficult memories. "When she heard me crying she said it put her in agony. My real mother handed me over willingly and my adoptive mother somehow convinced my father to adopt me. It was hard growing up in a social rank I was not meant to be in. I was ostracized, isolated, treated like scum. My parents' friends treated me like vermin when my mother and father were not there to witness it. But I clawed my way through all of that and became what I am today. I am successful, respected. If I could overcome that you could as well." He paused for a third time and folded his arms behind his back, looking at her wistfully, though he did not lose that constant slight sneer that never left his face. "You are strong. It will be hard, but you must prove everyone who thinks ill of you wrong. And you can do it, I know. You have potential."

Though he had released serious information he had only ever revealed to a handful of people, Javert felt like he had suddenly acquired a new subordinate, and he had in a strange way. He was taking this girl under his wing as his ward and he would guide her from now on through life. Since the moment she had seen him standing on the parapet on the bridge above the river, their fates had been bound. He would change this girl. He would see her succeed and see her triumph or he would be damned trying. From now on, the two would always be associated with each other.

"Master Javert?" Said a deep but timid voice. A thin, wiry man emerged from the hall, his spectacles slightly smudged. His clothes were simple but well tailored and his limp, dark hair had begun to recede slightly.

"Eponine, this is my concierge and servant, Emile Bucher. His wife and mother in law are also in my employment." The man nodded slowly, his eyes traveling over her politely. "Eponine is now the lady of the household and I expect her to be treated as such."

"Yes, Master Javert."

"What have I told you now?" Javert said commandingly, suddenly giving forth an air of friendly superiority over this man.

"Yes, Master Arcturus."

Javert nodded approvingly and Eponine looked at both men curiously, her head slightly cocked to the side.

"Arcturus?" She asked, pronouncing each syllable slowly.

"That is my name." Javert answered her, as if it was common knowledge. "My Christian name."

"I see." She murmured. Rumors always told that the Inspector had no Christian name. Eponine found herself to be a fool for believing them.

"You should rest now. Your room is upstairs at the end of the hall." She nodded. "To the right." He added.

Eponine nodded again. She had broken into enough houses of the bourgeoisie to know how the rooms were layed out. The room at the end of the hall to the left would be the master bedroom, in other words, Javert's. That would mean she would be occupying the room intended for Javert's daughter, if he had a daughter. Though this layout was completely appropriate, she felt just a little ill at ease about it. She would have the room opposite Javert's, easily accessible to him if he ever decided to pay her a visit during the night.

She suddenly remembered how she had reacted to her thoughts about the man as a lover just before she had been shot and her face flushed deeply, much to both men's confusions.

"Do you need assistance walking up the stairs?" Javert asked her, seeing she had made no plans to move. "Do you need to be carried?"

Imagining the Inspector carrying her to her bed flooded her mind and filled her stomach with a hybrid feeling mixed somewhere between fear and nervousness. She was caught so off guard that she could not formulate a response.

"Emile, carry Eponine to her room." Javert commanded, motioning to her.

"No." Eponine said suddenly. "No, that won't be necessary, thank you."

Slowly, she made her way up the stairs, her stomach burning, aching, sending her into dizzying waves of agony. Again, Eponine had too much pride to let anyone see her weakness and her face was completely blank as she ascended to the upstairs hallway.

When she was out of sight, Emile Bucher stood by Javert's side and, leaning towards the taller man slightly, he whispered, "Has Master Arcturus aquired a mistress?"

"Don't be absurd!" Javert barked, his face assuming a scowl. "She is my new ward. I was in her debt and she needed a home so I offered her one. There is nothing more."

"I see, Master, forgive me for my impurtenance. I should not have been so bold."

"Not at all," Javert answered, still looking up at the empty staircase, a scowl still covering his face, although this one was more of concentration than of anger. "I told you long ago you could confront me on anything. You are the closest thing to a friend I have on this damn planet."

"Yes, Master."

"I have work to attend to now." He said, placing a hand on the railing of the staircase. Behind him, Emile Bucher nodded and left the room.

Taking one step upwards, Javert shook his head to himself. A mistress? Him with a mistress? Ridiculous.

Before continuing his journey to his office, he shook his head again and thought about the girl who had somehow wormed her way into his life. Willful, sensible, witty in the street fashion, keenly observant. Appreciative as well. Strong. She was not beautiful. She was not even pretty, but she was no longer ugly. She could be considered fair, perhaps, but she was not pretty. Her internal agony charmed him. He found her rough voice lovely, her scrawny outline intriguing. What would it be like to touch that thin waist, he thought to himself, without a single barrier of clothing separating his hand from her flesh? Her porcelain skin would be majestic bare. And her eyes, my God, her eyes, Javert exclaimed to himself. Her eyes were the eyes of the goddess Nike, powerful yet gorgeous. She was also reverent, a God fearing woman. And she was so damn strong.

Feeling his stomach twist suddenly, Javert clasped a hand to his chest and let out a breath he had not known he had been holding. His eyes were wide, shocked. He could not believe himself.

"Good God, what has come over me?" He whispered, his head slightly bowed.

The answer was simple: he, Javert, who had never cared for anything his entire life save his career, had begun to develop feelings for this girl.

* * *

**When I was a kid I had not on, not two, but eleven teeth pulled, so I see where you're coming from ahgamora. I was actually born with three complete sets of canine teeth. So many people called me a vampire in high school, you wouldn't believe. Ahaha, funny teeth stories. Don't worry about being doped up on pain meds, either. It's gotten to the point where whenever I know I'm going to be in the hospital, I have somebody take away my phone so I don't call or text people weird things. I'm getting so off topic...**

**Reviewers, you are all just a bunch of damn sweethearts, did you know that?  
**


	9. Chapter 9

Some men enjoy the season of spring, others prefer autumn. Why is this important? We shall see.

Take, for instance, one particular young woman who went by the name of Cosette. During her youth she had been abused and she was tragically ugly. This ugliness prolonged itself throughout her life and in her fifteenth year she was a very homely girl. However, over some time, she transformed. The course of six months was the chrysalis for this ugly girl and she emerged a beautiful woman. Cosette's childhood had been the winter of her life; she was now a glorious spring. While out with her father at the Luxembourg one afternoon, she happened to catch the eye of one particular young man who went by the name of Marius. The moment he glanced into her sapphire eyes he was trapped in a lover's prison. Marius was in love with the spring.

There was another girl, Eponine, who, unlike Cosette, had held so much grace during her youth she charmed each person who looked at her. She was lovely, flowery, amusing. She danced and sang and played and smiled and loved herself, knowing that she was beautiful. Unfortunately, the ugly circumstances of poverty and misery hit and through the course of several years her beauty had died out. Only a small trace of her childhood prettiness remained, and that was her eyes. However hideous a person may become, the beauty in that person's eyes will never die. The glory of her childhood, the summer of her life, had turned into a chilling autumn, inevitably slipping into a dark, unforgiving, irreversible winter. Javert was the kind of man who prefers the tragedy of autumn. This was one of the reasons he found himself attracted to her.

This wolfish man raised a glass to his lips, bereaving it of its content of hard liquor. While he emptied his glass, he wondered how on Earth the other officers had convinced him to go out drinking after work. It was so unlike him, and yet, he had been doing many things unlike himself. He had been behaving strangely ever since Jean Valjean had bestowed his mercy upon him at the barricades. It had unhinged him severely and left him disturbed. His world had been tipped upside down and Javert found he did not much care any longer for his normal morals. In a sense, his last threads of control had been snapped. He was no longer so sure of himself and this showed in every new action and experience Javert took. He was vulnerable.

This strange new way of life felt ridiculous to Javert. Here he was, drinking in a public tavern with a bunch of faces he mostly disliked, infatuated with some whore's daughter. Ridiculous, indeed, Javert mused to himself as a waitress set another drink in front of him at his command. He had tried in vain several times to suppress his feelings towards the girl, telling himself that each time he looked at her he would simply ignore that strange feeling of warmth, but he found he could not. As soon as he laid eyes on her, he immediately forgot his intentions, entranced by the curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her nose, the dark cascade of her hair. His mind was filled with nothing but her.

We may ask ourselves why this man who never allowed himself pleasures was drinking. Javert was drinking because he was troubled. Why was he troubled? Because, though he could not prevent it by much, he did not like the new way of life he had assumed. It was troubling and he could think of no other way to drown these troubles than to drink, which only further added to his troubles as he did not usually drink, either. He was rowing a boat in a circle.

Although he was not paying attention to the other officers' conversation at his table, Javert looked up when he heard his name.

"Strange things have been happening lately. Strangest of all, Javert's keeping a whore around!" The man who said this was a particularly dim gendarme who had not been around long enough to feel the wrath of Inspector Javert's scorn. The stony, wolfish man glowered at this dim officer and the others seated at their table waited for an explosion. They were shocked when it did not come.

At one time, Javert was both humiliated, infuriated, and defensive. He was humiliated that his strange behavior had become noticeable to others, infuriated because this man had just called the new object of his affections a whore, and defensive because he did not want to be thought poorly of by his peers, nor did he want Eponine to be thought of as a whore. He had sweat, bled, and worked for too long to be pulled back into the shackles of degradation all because he had felt some flutter in his chest when thinking about some little girl.

Because of this three-way split of emotions, he could not formulate an answer. If he defended the girl, it would surely only amuse these men as it would confirm their beliefs. If he did not defend her he risked being ill observed for not defending a woman. Either way he would cut his hand on a double-edged sword.

Before Javert could conclude what to say, however, a previously silent, angry, slightly slurred voice cut through the air.

"She's not a whore!" Officer Liviet said, nearly shouting. Even the briefest glance given to this man would reveal that he was heavily intoxicated. "She saved my life. She's a. . . ." He paused only long enough to grin. "She's a savior." He finished redundantly.

"Yes, yes, and we're all very thankful she saved _you, _Liviet." Retorted another man and the whole table erupted into laughter, only excluding Javert and his drunk subordinate.

"I wonder," Said another man, running the mouth of a bottle of wine over his lip, his eyes sparkling evilly at Javert. He was playing the thrilling game, 'Poke the Bear'. "What kind of mistress she would make?" The man leaned back in his seat, folding his arms casually behind his head. "Would she be a wilting flower?" The man made a mocking pout at Javert and the men laughed, partaking in this dangerous game.

"I think she would be a happy thing. Cute, laughing, bubbly." Added another, and Javert felt his temper beginning to strain seriously. This hostile man had to be treated with enough caution most of the time to ensure one's safety. This caution had to be increased extravagantly when he was drinking and these men were all at huge risk of sustaining serious injury if they continued provoking him.

"Perhaps a fiery temptress!" Shouted another, and the table roared their agreement. Javert felt himself empty another glass, his grip beginning to create little cracks in the fragile material.

"Why don't we just. . . ." The man who spoke now closed his eyes and grinned stupidly at the surface of the table, as if he could not believe he was straying so close to danger. "Why don't we just ask Javert?" He said slowly.

"She is _not _my mistress!" He whispered malevolently, just loud enough for all of the men to hear. "She is my ward. She is my adoptive daughter."

"She's too old to be your daughter."

"She's not that old." He answered quietly, glaring at a corner of the wall.

"Come now, Javert! We were all waiting for a sign to prove you were human! Don't deny us this pleasure! Admit it! You're keeping a woman in your bed, a street rat to be exact!"

The man who had just spoken was the same stupid gendarme who had previously called Eponine a whore and the moment the reckless words had tumbled out of his mouth he immediately regretted them. The look he received was enough to send fear into every atom and cell in his body. His grip tightened and the glass in Javert's hand shattered, spraying these idiotic men with little bits of sharp shrapnel. Rage was etched into every detail of the officer's face as he glowered at his colleagues. As if sensing something great and terrible had just happened in their midst, the entire tavern had silenced themselves. Not a word was uttered as every glance watched the fearsome man stand and view his prey. The mangled remnants in his hand sliced through his glove and lacerated his palm, making blood flow freely through his clenched fingers. Little red drops dripped onto the table and floor, though Javert did not seem to even notice he was bleeding. His ignorance of this wound seemed ominous to the audience watching him and they all gave an involuntary shudder, a cold breeze seeming to have drifted through the closed door and chilling them all to the bone. Javert motioned for the gendarme to stand and the boy obeyed, his face set bravely, though if one looked under the table they would be able to notice his knees shaking violently. The poor boy was terrified. Although he assumed a courageous facial expression, his terror seeped through his dull, muddy eyes and as soon as Javert saw this he knew he had won the kill.

The imposing man of the pair smiled warmly, as if the two had just shared a joke, and held out his bleeding hand in truce, the little shards that remained in his palm falling to the floor freely. Their noise was the only sound that filled the still room and the boy slowly inched his own hand towards Javert's, wary of an inevitable punishment, fear still painted in his eyes terribly. One bloody hand clutched the boys, shaking it roughly, and, before he could comprehend it, he was dragged over the table, one large, black gloved hand wrapped around his neck, restraining all flow of air to his lungs, the other still compounding his hand. The crowd heard a few sickening cracks. It was the boy's fingers breaking underneath Javert's crushing grip.

"Tell me, boy, exactly why do you think I would allow filth into my bed?" He whispered menacingly.

"Mercy. . . please. . . ." The gendarme choked out with what little breath he could spare. Javert could feel his damaged fingers twitching satisfactorily beneath his own.

"I have never succumbed to temptation before, so why should I now?"

"I beg you. . . ."

"I am a man of God. Why would I participate in sin with a girl barely into adulthood when we are obviously not bound in wedlock?"

"I. . . apologize."

"Why do you think I would stand by idly while you called my ward a whore?"

"I can't. . . breathe. . . ."

"Tell me." Javert muttered, his eyes glittering furiously. "NOW!"

"For. . . forgiveness!"

Feeling kind enough to bestow this man with as much mercy he possessed, Javert released him and watched as he slid from the table and fell unceremoniously to the floor where he lay in a crumpled heap. He watched thoughtfully as the boy's chest heaved up and down, rejoicing in its reunion with air. Stoically, he reached down and pulled the young man to his knees by his hair, his blood staining a fistful of fair hair. Ugly brown eyes stared into fiery green ones and the boy let out a weak whimper as Javert bared his teeth, his canines sticking out eerily prominent.

"You will never speak about my ward or any other woman in such a manner ever again." He spat, each word of his command falling on the room like icicles impaling ear drums. "Is that understood?"

The boy nodded frantically, nursing his fractured fingers in his other hand.

Without another word Javert straightened himself, brushing off his uniform as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, and walked out through the door of the tavern.

Walking through the dark night time streets of Paris, poorly illuminated by the lanterns pregnant with grease candles, he wandered home, is head feeling heavy. He had drank more than he thought and the weight on his shoulders seemed immensely dizzying. Minds befuddled by alcohol sometimes deviate towards talking to oneself. It is easier for slurred minds to understand thought when it is spoken aloud. This is what Javert did now.

"Something has overcome me," He said to himself. "I have been possessed, bewitched, ensnared in a briar patch. She has wrapped her hands around my soul." Javert groaned. "I am almost aching. Is this what men call infatuation, or is this desire?" He whispered into the night, balling up his still bleeding hand and placing it over his heart.

He himself had never experienced either love or lust, so Javert was lost in the strange meanings of these words.

On one hand it could be love. Who was he to become infatuated now? That was youth's curse, not his. Javert had always been grateful for never having fallen into the clutches of idiocy brought on by that myth called love. He had thanked God time and time again for this as he viewed all the good men around him becoming fools over woman and then shriveled imbeciles by the demands of mewling offspring. He had prided himself for never having been in love, and now he felt in himself a deep trouble. He felt as if he had been wandering blindly in a cave and had just fallen into an inescapable chasm. The thought is frightful enough on its own; even more frightful is it when that chasm is love.

On the other hand his feelings could be merely stemming from desire. That is not so strange of humans, Javert told himself, especially men. However, in all his years, he had never experienced the shames of want. He had kissed women before, of course, he had even gone further with some as a boy, but when men talked of urges that needed to be relieved he had always been lost. Now it seemed more fathomable to him, which led him to believe his feelings for the girl were really just lust. Now, like any other man, he wanted to run his hand through damp, dark curls, to trace his fingers over bare flesh, he wanted to feel thin arms wrapped around him tightly, embracing him lovingly as her unclothed chest met his. Though this seemed more reasonable, Javert could not help but feel fear. Had the devil entered his soul, sending him reeling towards temptation, making him want things that were forbidden to want unless married? This thought was also frightful.

And then another troublesome idea appeared in his mind, one he had not thought of previously. If he loved this girl, if he even desired her, what would she do with him? She couldn't possibly find him a worthy suitor, whether she was a wife or mistress. He was much older than her, and he did not see himself as handsome. He was neither charming nor kind. He had money to offer, of course, but if he wanted her under his hold he would not want her to stay with him for that. If he loved her he would want her to love him in return. And then, what did she think of him as anyways? Surely they were not friends, but they were not not friends. Did she see him as her adoptive parent, a man she could one day learn to refer to as her father? The idea seemed to sicken him. Did he still appear to her as just a policeman, no doubt something to be feared as her family was ridden with criminals? He also did not like that thought.

Oh, the throes of that misery called unrequited love! They tore apart this inexperienced man and made him feel ill with the unknown when he did not even recognize his ailment. All at once he wanted to weep, laugh, and scream, all with the madness received from love. Whatever Javert was feeling, love, lust, infatuation, desire, he was in trouble.

A curious thing had happened to him. Much like the night Jean Valjean had prevented his death, something in him had again been broken. Javert seemed lost, damaged, even slightly dirty, like his soul had been coated in dust. He no longer felt like himself.

Stepping through his gate, he closed the iron behind him and walked around to the back of hi house where he sat on a stone bench. A glimmer of light caught Javert's eye and he happened to look up to see Eponine standing before the window of her bedroom, clothed in a nightdress and paying no attention to the outside world. Her eyes were closed and her arms were wrapped around herself. She seemed to twirl, much like a little girl, and the world she was lost in presently was one without him in it. Though he had to strain his ears, her window was open slightly and he could hear her singing some simple little rhyme that seemed to him a great aria.

Finally, he concluded that whatever he felt for her, in the end it all led to the same thing. He wanted her, in one way or another. He wanted her as souls want each other, and then he wanted her as a man wants a woman. He wanted her.

Remembering the way she had slowly said his name, the corners of his mouth twitched upwards and he nearly smiled. With open, distant eyes concentrating on the flickering shadows that filled the world, Javert listened to her sing in the night.

* * *

**Don't worry everybody, the sarcasm is coming (hopefully). I'm having a bit of concern with the ever growing OOC-ness of Javert, so I've been shoving irony and sarcasm everywhere I can. As a preliminary warning, he may get a little. . . off in the next couple of chapters but I have no other idea on any way I can make the story progress so I apologize. Also, for some reason the spell check on my computer has mysteriously turned off *glares at roommate* so if you see any words spelt like sfjthkfd feel free to laugh your heads off. And then just one more thing. I somehow got tricked into doing another 'favor' for a friend so I'll be playing clarinet for a production of Annie, Get Your Gun. The only problem is that the music is sooooooo hard so I'll be spending the next few weeks devoting my self to that. I won't have as much time to right but I'll try the best I can. I already have the next three chapters written so that's a bit of a relief.  
**

**Well, TTFN, readers. You are all so wonderful.  
**


	10. Chapter 10

Eponine woke the next morning feeling better than she had in nearly nine years. Over the last few days she had slept in silken sheets, downy comforters, and thick, goose feather pillows. She had dressed everyday in beautiful gowns, and had found a large selection of hair ribbons, and at night she dressed herself in nightdresses of unimaginable softness. On top of that, she had slowly been getting used to eating food on a regular basis. She had paused last night in her room, unable to believe her luck, and wished that soon Marius would find her.

She had startled herself before when she had looked into a mirror and had found a completely different looking girl from the one she had been accustomed to seeing in puddles and windows. She was no longer ugly. The thought had filled her with hope, hope that if Marius saw her again he might fall in love with her, as she had fallen in love the moment she had heard his voice and turned around to spy on him in the house they had once shared. It had filled her with so much elation that Eponine could not help but begin to sing and dance, imagining that that handsome boy who had so long captivated was with her. She had felt like a princess awaiting her prince. However, with a sudden twist in her stomach, she had thought of the Lark and had hurriedly pushed her back into the recess of her mind, refusing to acknowledge that beatiful girl her love cared so deeply for.

Though he could easily be seen if she cast a glance out her large window, Eponine did not notice Javert watching her, his eyes serious and intense, not wanting to miss a single flickering image of her silhouetted in the window.

The housekeeper who had woken her, Emile's wife, she had learned, helped her stand from the bed, her stomach still sore from where she had been shot. This particular woman's lovely brown hair had only just a few small strands of gray at her left temple, and her brow was almost constantly furrowed in deep thought and contemplation. She was a thin woman, prone to silence but occasionally divulging a smart piece of advice to someone who needed it. Though she had never had any children, she was prone to a motherly attitude, one of the reasons she had made it her new job to look after Eponine so thoroughly. With her husband and mother, she was perfectly content with her life under the employment of Inspector Javert. Though she had never been to school, a grandmother had taught her how to read and write and she prided herself in those special abilities. Her face was soft and pale, devoid of any wrinkle, the perfect personification of gentle kindness.

"Thank you, Sophie." Eponine said, her raspy, liquor damaged voice made softer by her sweetness as the older woman handed her an outfit for the day. Sophie helped her dress for the day, pulling the ties of her corset gently so as not to aggravate her stitches nor make it unbearable for her to breathe. Eponine had informed her that she had never worn a corset before, so she had slowly been drawing them tighter each day to ease her into the uncomfortable sensation.

"Is that all right, dear?" Sophie asked when she had finished, tucking a gray streaked strand of brown hair behind her ear.

"Yes, thank you." Eponine answered with a smile. In a matter of days, she had managed to charm all three of the servants in Javert's household, Emile by her wit, Sophie by her kindness and gratitude, and Laura, the cook and Sophie's mother, by Eponine's love of her cooking.

Several days before, while Laura had been laying out dinner for the pair, she had noticed the Master of the household watching her far too closely. She had later told her daughter ad son-in-law that in all her years of serving Inspector Javert. which had been many, she ad never seen him show so much interest in any particular person. The old woman had gone on to voice her suspicion that their master fancied his adoptive daughter. The three had all agreed unanimously that if the girl turned out to be more to the Master than just his ward, they would not mind so much.

"Breakfast has been prepared if you are ready to eat."

Eponine nodded and Sophie helped her downstairs as she still felt slightly weak after laying in bed for weeks on end. After being seated at the long, mahogony dining table, Eponine looked around herself curiously. Though she rarely saw him, Javert had never been absent from a meal before now, but his usual place at the table was empty and no place was laid out for him. Along with that, she had memorized his work schedule during her days involved with the Patron-Minette and knew he would not be patrolling the streets until later today. This meant that there was no chance of him having already left for work.

"Where is the Inspector?" She asked Sophie, as she laid a full plate of food in front of her.

"Uh, the Master was out drinking last night. He has a headache, I believe." She replied softly. If she hadn't grown so attached to the homely girl Javert had picked up out of the slums, it would not be likely that she would have divulged this slightly embarrassing information, but Eponine had openly revealed her ugly past to the older woman and she felt that the two would not keep things from each other.

"I see. . . ." Eponine murmured thoughtfully, absentmindedly twirling the eggs in front of her with her fork. "Sophie?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Could you get me a bucket of warm water and a rag?"

"Uh, of course, dear, but can I ask what for?"

"For his headache."

As soon as she had finished her breakfast, Eponine found herself standing outside Javert's bedroom door, a cloth in one hand and a pail of warmed water in the other. After knocking on the door softly, she received an irritated "Enter." from the Inspector.

Closing the door behind her carefully so as not to make any noise capable of causing pain, she took view of Javert's room. It was furnished plainly with a four poster bed, a chair, and a desk which Javert was sitting slumped over, red hair buried beneath his thick forearms. Dark curtains were drawn over the window, banishing all thoughts of light from the room and his poor posture seemed to radiate pain and depression and beside this window was the windowed door of the balcony that led from his room. Eyeing his bed with all the wariness of a virgin, she stepped near him and smiled piteously at his obviously head ache induced form.

"I didn't know you drank, Inspector." Eponine commented. She smirked at him, receiving the desired response from Javert when he jumped at the sound of her voice.

"It isn't proper to be in a man's room, you know." He said, refusing to sit up and look at her, his voice slightly higher than usual. The fact that the woman he felt himself attracted to had caught him in this ugly state was humiliating to Javert. He always made himself appear presentable, not one button of his uniform out of place, and he felt as if she had just discovered him in a manner of extreme undress.

"I'm not exactly a proper woman, Inspector."

"Get out, Eponine." He ordered, embarrassment burning in his stomach, etching itself in his soul to put his temper in a foul mood.

Ignoring him, Eponine carried her items over to his desk and set them down by her feet so that she could stand behind him. Javert opened his mouth to repeat his command to her, but his words died in his mouth as her warm hands gripped the back of his broad shoulders and squeezed him gently, kneading her thumbs into his flesh soothingly. A small, throaty sound escaped his lips and he sat up, his spine straightening uncontrollably. Gripping the edges of his desk, Javert found himself leaning into her body as she massaged him gently in an attempt to alleviate his pain. Eponine felt a drip of discomfort when he rested the back of his head against her chest, but she said nothing as she continued to press her palms through the barrier of his policeman's uniform. After he made several more pleasured noises and sent her spiraling into even further discomfort, she released him. She had been around Montparnasse enough times to know the signs of when a man was sexually excited, and Javert would not be able to hide his arousal from her. And then there was the kiss. She was completely lost as to why he did that. She could only conclude that he must feel himself attracted to her. Eponine felt a slight hint of concern towards herself when she recognized these signs in her new legal guardian. It was not so long ago that she had felt the same sort of rush when thinking about the Inspector before, and she could not help but think of what mutual attraction could lead to. Eponine had been close to doing regrettable things several times before for money, but she had always found the light of reason and the threat of sin to steer her away from these actions. There was no way possible she would ever willingly participate in anything sexual with any man other than Marius, whom she would give anything to, but she had lived in the slums long enough to know that men did not always need a woman to be willing with them in their beds.

Well, it's better to be safe than sorry, Eponine told herself, examining Javert's thick, red hair. I shouldn't get too close to him. It'll only lead to trouble.

To clear her mind, she imagined Marius, fumbling with his mountain of leather bound books on his way to work, smiling at her as he passed the ugly girl on the boulevard. His lovely, leaf colored eyes would glint in the sun as he walked with that friend of his, Courfeyrac, his old coat considerably worn at the elbows, his dark curls scarcely covered by his con-caving hat.

"Where did you learn to do that?" He asked her, his voice slightly husky at the prospect of her touching him so closely. His head ache had suddenly begun to recede a considerable amount and he felt his troubles beginning to melt away at her presence.

"I used to be an alcoholic, Monsieur." Eponine said simply, dipping the cloth into the water momentarily. "My sister, 'Zelma, used to do the same thing for me whenever I had too much too drink. She's a kind thing, really. But I haven't gone near the stuff in ages. It leads to bad stuff, I know, I've seen it happen with my own eyes, Monsieur." She refrained from telling him that the main reason she had quit drinking was because she didn't have the money to continue it. "And then, I suppose I changed a lot, too. I met this boy, you see, and then life didn't seem so bad as to need something to block it out all the time. He would smile at me and the world would seem brighter than the hottest summer day, even if it was raining or snowing or the cold made my fingers start to turn blue. Even if he never even noticed me, he made my world complete, Monsieur. For months I lived just so I could see him, just so I could hear him say my name."

A cold spear seemed to suddenly strike Javert squarely in the chest. The way she spoke about this young man, tenderly, compassionately, it was almost like she loved him. How sickeningly romantic, he spat to himself, how disgustingly happy. He was sickened at the thought of some boy flirting with his ward, his soul tinged green with envy, his brow arching in a scowl. She lived just to see him, did she? He felt himself plunged into the cold fire of jealousy, angry, not at Eponine, but at the boy who had captured her attentions. Oh, he would like to set eyes on this boy to see what in him had caught her eye. Was he handsome, pretty, robust, pale, delicate, youthful? Did he speak softly, were his eyes like jewels? Was he everything, he, Javert, was not? Had he placed his fumbling, stupid boy hands on her? He felt the unmistakeable, alarming urge to throttle someone, and this time there was no stupid gendarme present to wrap his hands around.

It came to Javert's attention that he had been clutching the desk so hard that his finger nails had penetrated its surface, leaving large indentations where his hands had been. Extracting himself from the surface of the wood, he took a moment to calm himself, still silently seething.

Feeling that he should say something in return, he cleared his throat casually after a moment of silence and said, "If I cannot call you Madame, you should not call me Monsieur or Inspector, don't you think?"

"Then what should I call you?" She asked, her rough voice cracking.

"I call you by your Christian name, why don't you do likewise?" He said slowly.

"You think that's appropriate?"

"Appropriate enough in private. I wouldn't want you to be throwing my name about every time we're out, though. People will think things. . . ." Javert said slowly and Eponine could not help but roll her eyes at his patronizing tone of voice.

"People already think things." Eponine said, copying his condescending tone, her voice lilting in a sing-song fashion.

"Yes, I'm very well aware of that. That's how I got-" Javert raised his hand and Eponine saw it was ungloved, a bandage wrapped expertly around his palm. Slowly, he lowered his hand and cut off his speech. Perhaps it was not wise to let her know that he had been involved in a fight concerning her. It would make her suspicious, perhaps. The last thing he wanted was for Eponine to know how he felt about her. "Then do whatever you want, good God, it's not like _I _care about what you call me." He growled, masking his affection with roughness.

"Alright then. . . Arcturus." She spoke his name thoughtfully and he could not help but feel that agitated flutter in his chest again. Inwardly, he almost groaned at the feeling, wanting it to vanish and becoming even more distressed when it did not.

Eponine wrung out the rag so that it would not drip and Javert sighed as the moist cloth made contact with the flesh of his forehead. Calmly, she transferred her massaging hands from his shoulders to his temples and began to press her fingers on either side of his head. He sighed again as the throbbing in his temples began to disappear, seemingly drawn out from the tips of her fingers.

"An alcoholic. . . ." He murmured, enraptured at her touch. His head slumped back onto her chest and Eponine found she did not mind as much this time. He was probably just a little delusional from the pain, she told herself, he wasn't thinking clearly. There was no way he would ever do it again.

"An alcoholic." She confirmed, giving a small nod of her head.

"I've changed in a lot of ways, as well." He said quietly as her fingers traced against his forehead and removed the rag to re-moisten it. "Especially since. . . ."

"Since?" Eponine inquired, curious to see whatever had shaken this infallible man.

Javert's eyes fluttered open and he stared bloodshot at a fixed point on the curtained window in front of him, lost in memories that seemed to have taken place dozens of years ago, but in reality had only take place several months in the past. Like Sophie, Javert would not usually have divulged so much information to anyone, but he could not stop himself from confiding in Eponine. There was something about her that people could not resist to open up to.

"The bane of my career." He said softly. "One man wanted for theft from a child while on parole. I don't know how but that criminal has continued to evade me my entire life. And then, at the barricades when that gamin ratted on me and sentenced me to death after my men shot one of theirs, it was him who volunteered to end my life, the criminal. But he wouldn't kill me. He let me go. And I don't know why. My entire life I've never owed anyone anything, but now I owe him my life. That's. . . that's why. . . I was on the bridge when you stopped me from. . . from commi-"

"Yes, yes, I see." She said hurriedly, for some strange reason fearing the idea of suicide being spoken aloud.

"Since then I've been different. My very existence has been disturbed. It's like my entire life has been a lie." He shook his head. "I can't explain it. That's why, before when I was in your house and it was dark, that's why I kissed you. That is not like me, I apo-"

"No. I understand." Eponine said quickly, not wanting to bring up the topic of the kiss he had forced on her. Quitting her massage of his temples, she let her hands fall to his neck, her thin fingers brushing his skin there before refusing all further movement. Like him, she found herself staring at a fixed point on the wall, her eyes glossing over in unfocus.

"I've been behaving strangely ever since. I don't know what's come over me."

"It's alright. Everything happens for a reason, I know. If I wasn't poor I'd never have met Marius, if I hadn't met Marius I'd never have gone to the barricades to look after him, if I had never went to the barricades Marius wouldn't have sent me away, and if Marius hadn't sent me away I'd never pull you back from that parapet and you'd be dead right now and we'd have never met."

There was a moment of silence.

"Then, Eponine, I'm so very glad you were poor." Javert whispered.

"Well, yes. If I wasn't poor you'd be six feet underground right now if you still weren't floating round in the river." She snorted.

"No." He said, taking one of her hands and laying a gentle kiss to her fingertips. "If you were never poor I'd never have had the pleasure of meeting you."

Absentmindedly, Eponine brushed Javert's hair off of his forehead, the tips of her fingers slightly damp from the wet rag on his forehead.


	11. Chapter 11

A quiet two months passed and Eponine and Javert found themselves plunged into a cold December. A depression had seemed to settle over the former slum girl and she had spent these two months in almost complete silence, curled up by the window in Javert's parlor and thinking of no one or nothing but Marius. Her pain sprung from her separation from her love sent Javert into waves of agony as he watched her mope around his house. He had attempted time and again to discover what was ailing her, but she would give him no hint, only insisting that she was fine. Though this sad demeanor masked her usual self, every now and then a fiery spark would light in Eponine. She would become proud, rough, cheeky like her younger brother, sly like her father. For a while she would become her old self and Javert could not help wanting to spend every one of these moments with her. Once, in one of these moods, she had punched him in the arm hard enough to leave a bruise. He had had to resist the urge to laugh and, at night, when he had examined the bruise, he could not help but smirk at the purple and yellow stretch of skin.

In eight weeks, Javert's feelings had grown considerably. He was now completely sure that he was indeed infatuated with her; there could be no other explanation. However, he did not put in any effort to pursue her; the lack of attention he regarded her with showed how much he really cared for her; he would simply not allow himself the pleasure of adoring her too intimately. Though he remained arrogant, proud and sarcastic on the outside, Javert's internal self was in constant anxiety over Eponine and her pain. He felt, for the first time in his life, completely helpless, adding even more to the troubles he had been experiencing over his new life style and new feelings. Her depression was contagious. Javert had spent the past two months lost in a dark cloud similar to Eponine's, though, unlike her, he refused to show it. People had hardly noticed a change in him, only excluding the former slum girl. She had the privilege to say that she had caught him once or twice gloomily staring at an edge of the wall when he was supposed to be working. It was strange, unexpected, and a little frightening. On top of this, he had spent the past two months aching and fluttering each time she walked near him or spoke in his presence. It was unbearable, but he bore through it. Javert ordered, commanded, arrested, sneered, glared, and refused to let any amount of crime slip past him, performing admirably as an officer.

It had been nearly five months since the rebellion, five months since Eponine had pulled Javert back from the swirling black depths of the Seine, five months since she had seen the boy she loved so dearly, five months since she had seen any other member from her past. So it was with a shock that, while on an outing with Javert, Eponine happened to run into her younger sister. Another shock was received when Javert did not incarcerate the younger Thenardier daughter.

In the process of finding dinner for the day, Azelma had been scoping the streets, looking for some bourgeois who dared to brave the winter cold. She had spotted one particular man, out with either his lady or his daughter, she could not tell which, whose pockets seemed fruitful enough. This man was Inspector Javert and his female companion was Eponine. Azelma did not recognize these two people who played such important roles in her life, Javert because he was not wearing his usual uniform, Eponine because she was simply unrecognizable.

Azelma carefully observed the man she referred to as her 'charity'. With all the ease of a regular pickpocket, the young girl barely past fifteen artfully walked past her victim and slipped her hand into the pocket of his frock coat. Her efforts were sugarless, however. Javert was too used to the stylings of theft not to have recognized the girl's intentions towards his coat as soon as he layed eyes on her watching him intently. A rough hand trapped Azelma by gripping her wrist and the scrawny girl tried to twist out of his grasp unsuccessfully. With a small exclaim, she recognized defeat. Azelma had been caught.

Looking up into the man's face guiltily, the young girl paled considerably beneath the grime that coated her, all of the blood in her body seeming to rush to her stomachs. The merciless green eyes, the pale skin, the fiercely clean shaven face, the fiery red hair, all sent waves of terror into her. The man's face she looked into was Inspector Javert's. Silently, Azelma cursed herself for not looking at him too closely. Surely he would be tossing her back into Les Madelonettes again. The fragile girl cringed and flinched, expecting a slap to the face and a bellowing insult to her ears before she received a cuffing of the hands. Before Javert could open his mouth, however, another voice rang through the air, one she recalled just as well as the Inspector's.

"Azelma!" Eponine exclaimed, her hoarse voice sending a nostalgic chill through her younger sister. The thing with the gaunt face, the curled hair, and the thick winter gown seemed to be a phantom from Azelma's past, a long lost vision suddenly remembered.

"Eponine?" She asked slowly, ogling the lady in front of her with wonder. "But this possibly can't be my sister. This is a lady, this is a doll from when I was little! Look at her dress, she's a queen! And why would my sister ever be escorted like that by Inspector Javert!"

"I may look like one, but I am certainly no lady, 'Zelma." Eponine growled before laughing at her younger sister's spoken thoughts. Embracing her filthy sister, Azelma was given full reassurance that the woman in front of her was indeed her flesh and blood.

"But what is this? Where have you been all this time? Father said you were dead!"

"Did he?" Eponine murmured. How like her father to not even bother in investigating the disappearance of his daughter. "You didn't know, then? None of you?"

"Know what?" Azelma asked curiously, cocking her head to one side.

"I was shot. I was in the hospital for almost two months." Eponine said gravely, angry at her family for not even bothering to discover her whereabouts.

"Oh, 'Ponine, I didn't know. I was in the brook for a while, got picked up by some officer. I woulda visited you if I knew, trust me, but I believed father when he said you were dead."

"Sure. I understand." The older sister whispered coldly. At her side, she felt someone lace their fingers over her arm comfortingly and both girls were suddenly re-aware of Inspector Javert, still at their sides. "You know Inspector Javert, 'Zelm. He took me in. He's a saint."

"I wouldn't say that." Javert said indifferently, still clutching Azelma's wrist in his hand. "I merely did what God would have wanted me to do."

Javert looked at his ward wistfully and Azelma was put under the impression that he had done more than just take her in. Yes, she had heard the rumors just like everybody else. She had almost forgotten the whispered stories about her sister and this man; there was always some new gossip to replace the old, but now she did not doubt them. And hadn't she found the Inspector in her sister's bed one morning? The scrawny, filthy girl, protective of her sister, glared at the man she believed her older sibling to be sleeping with and tried again to pull her hand out of his grip, still unsuccessful.

"I don't like you." Azelma told Javert bluntly, and he almost began to laugh at her boldness. He felt respect towards her for her lack of respect. "You're doing her wrong, Monsieur."

"What wrong have I done?" Javert asked, his eyes narrowed slightly in a response stemming from irritation and curiosity. He was indeed unaware of what the little tragedy meant.

Azelma gave a small gasp and, with her free hand, draped her arm over her thinly clothed chest, her skinny fingers clutching the side of her forearm. Not wanting to speak of certain things aloud, she shook her head, her grubby cheeks blushing furiously, and looked up at Javert fearfully. The result was that he looked back at her, pity mixed behind the obvious detest in his face. Though her greasy blond hair and blank blue eyes were nothing like her sister's, he could see the resemblance between the two Thenardier daughters. They both shared the same round face, the same gentle nose, the same cupid's bow lips. Here in front of him was the family of his heart, slowly falling down that same chasm her sister had been residing in before he had pulled her out. Within him, he felt extremely uncomfortable. He was torn between his dislike of this dirty, dusty girl who was obviously a criminal in the making and his desire to please the older sister.

"Why don't you come home with us? You can get something to eat and maybe clean up a bit." Javert asked her, his voice calm but his body agitated as he stamped a foot in the street quietly so that the two woman would not notice. As he gripped his teeth in some form of strange eternal pain, it is important to note that he was not inviting Azelma into his home out of hospitality, nor was it out of pity or kindness. Throughout the past few weeks he had attempted several things to please Eponine, all of which had failed. There had been the moment where he had complimented her on her appearance. She had murmured a thank you, but she had also grimaced when she thought he was not looking. Then there was the occasion where he had given her a necklace. It had not pleased her, as it would any other lady, but she had accepted it with a certain reluctance. He had not seen her wear it once. Finally, Javert brought himself back to an evening where the two of them had been sitting in his parlor, silently, Javert, as always, working, and Eponine contenting herself with sitting by the window and watching the world.

"There's a spider on the windowsill." She had said.

It had been the first word she had said to him all day and Javert was excited to hear her voice fill the air. She was on no part purposefully withholding speech in sadness or anger, she merely did not feel like talking. Though she did not intend it, Eponine's natural prone to silence scalded his spirit. In the course of two months they had barely had two conversations. He had spent several mournful hours with her in silence, wishing she would only speak to him so that he could be granted a dose of her rough voice. Javert was nearly ecstatic when she finally spoke, though, as he was always in control of his demeanor excluding a few small events, he refused to portray his happiness.

Without saying a word in response, he had stood from his seat and set aside his papers, walking over to where she had curled herself up on the window seat. A monstrously sized creature had stationed itself on the pane of the glass. Silently, he had scooped the spider into his palm and, after opening the window a crack, dropped it back into the world.

"Why did you do that?" Eponine had asked him, obviously displeased. "It was only a spider."

He had nearly slapped himself. Javert could simply not make this girl happy, when that was really all he wanted. But now, as he observed the younger Thenardier daughter, he thought it would please Eponine to see him bestowing kindness upon her younger sister. Perhaps it would even make her like him. One of the greatest fears he had ever experienced was one he had recently developed. It was the fear that Eponine secretly loathed him.

The truth was that she did not loathe her legal guardian. Eponine had long ago vowed that she would never let herself feel for any man other than Marius. Because of this she shut out every other male figure in her life, adding an unintentional cold atmosphere around her whenever she was in the presence of a man. Eponine did not hate Javert, she only felt uncomfortable around him. The memory of their kiss had not vanished from her mind, nor had the scene in his room where he had seemed aroused at her touch. These incidents had worried her and, despite his efforts to hide it, she had begun to suspect that he felt some form of attraction towards her. Her woman's intuition had sensed danger and she had hurriedly backed away from him, shutting him out to the point where he felt lost in a frigid ice storm. Because of this, Javert had jumped on every opportunity to show himself off to her, much like a peacock displaying his glorious feathers. He had done dozens of small things to prove his worth to her, however, only one made a substantial impact on her: his subtle kindness. Though he was always wolfish in his demeanor, he was gentle towards her, like a parent wolf, and twice as protective. He had his own sort of rough gentleness that pleased Eponine.

Azelma shook her head hurriedly at his offer. In her romantic mind, she assumed that he wanted to add her to his 'collection', as men often call it.

"I'm a good girl." She said, one arm still crossed over her chest. "Not like 'Ponine."

"Please, I insist." Javert continued, a little more insistent now that he knew the girl would probably not be accompanying the two home.

"Come on, 'Zelma. Look at you. You're freezing. You're starving."

Azelma was indeed shivering, nothing but her thin blouse and skirt offering her protection against the cold. The young girl's collar bones protruded like ghastly twigs beneath grubby skin stretched taut and her cheekbones stood out in sharp contrast.

"I couldn't leave the streets, 'Ponine. You know that. This is my home. And what about mother? She was so heartbroken when you went missing. She cried for days."

"Did she really?" Eponine asked, completely surprised. Azelma nodded sadly.

"I couldn't do that to her. I'm the only thing she's got left now besides father. And I think she's falling ill." It was Eponine's turn to nod. "Besides, you could pull this off, but I can't." Azelma looked at her sisters lovely clothes and hair and glanced at Javert's hand curled around her arm. Haughty jade eyes caressed her protectively and the skinny little girl could not imagine herself in that place.

"Take this then."

Eponine, doffing her winter coat, handed it to her sister who slid it over her bare arms gratefully. Without a word, Javert took off his black frock coat and placed it over Eponine's shoulders, wrapping it around her thin form carefully.

"Thank you." She murmured to him, drawing the coat closer around herself.

Azelma eyed Javert again warily, clutching the hem of Eponine's jacket to her chest. Like her parents, or any other criminals, she felt the unmistakable urge to flee from him, having it driven into her head at an early age that policeman always meant bad news. The emaciated girl was almost sure he would arrest her any moment for attempting to rob him, and being stuck back in Les Madelonettes was not something she could deal with. While she had been putting on her sister's coat, Javert had released her arm and she saw a perfect opportunity for escape.

"I wouldn't want to bother you much anymore, then. I should just get on home. Mother will be missing me."

She took a step back but before se could run off, Javert wrapped his hand around her arm again and held out something for her in his other hand.

"This is what you wanted, I think." He said, quietly, giving her a slight glare, making sure his hostilities towards the scrawny thing in front him remained a secret to her older sister..

Taking two five franc pieces from him, Azelma looked up at Javert, her mouth slightly open in wonder. Slowly, suspicion dawned on her, as if this was some trick, that in a moment he would clap her in cuffs and laugh at her gratefulness. She tried to shove the money back into his hand but he would not accept.

"Take it." He ordered, closing her hand around the two franc pieces.

"Thank you, then, Monsieur. Good bye, 'Ponine. I hope I'll see you around."

Within moments, she had vanished amongst the shadows and Javert shook his head at the spot where she had been.

"You and your sister are quite similar." He commented, taking hold of her arm again and resisting the urge to shiver without his coat.

"You think so?" Eponine whispered dejectedly. Javert, noticing a sudden sadness in her, wrapped his arm around her waist in an attempt to comfort her, though it only made her feel more uncomfortable. A glimmer of wetness coated her eyes and he held her close to him, suddenly frightened by her display of emotion. He only hoped no passing citizen would notice Inspector Javert holding this woman who looked remarkably similar to a particular girl from the slums.

"What is it? What have I said?" He said calmly but firmly, desperately wanting to console her but afraid to look weak. "I'm sorry."

"No!" She exclaimed, giving a small, sad chuckle. "It's nothing _you've _done."

"Then what is upsetting you?" He asked, and Eponine was startled by his concern. Vague sincerity whirled in his burning eyes and she suddenly felt like he was much to close to her for comfort. She pushed him away from her and he murmured an apology.

"She's the only family I've got left. And you've just seen her. Sick, hungry, filthy. I'm worried. What will become of her, I think to myself, where will she find herself? Without her I'll be all alone in the world."

"Don't speak nonsense!" Javert barked, still holding her close to his body, his breath seeming like a puff of smoke in the cold air, and she jumped slightly. Seeing that he had startled her, both his gaze and his voice softened. "I'm your family now. Now lets go home. It's freezing out here and I have far too much work to do to fall ill."

When Eponine was again situated in her usual post in front of the window, Javert sat in front of the crackling fire place, overseeing more papers for the prefecture of the Paris police. She plunged them both into silence, again. Occasionally, he would send a glance over to her, again wishing that she would only talk to him, willing her to open her mouth and speak. Still unsure of exactly what he felt about her, Javert only agitated himself further by thinking about the girl in the windowsill and he could not stop himself from fidgeting around uncomfortably in her ever persistent silence. After nearly an hour of this silence, he nearly gave up and was startled when he heard her voice again.

"Arcturus?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"Whatever for, dear?"

Javert almost choked on his breath. He felt his face burn, though it did not flush. He was furious at himself. He had not meant to utter that one final syllable so often exchanged between husbands and wives, or even lovers. Imperceptibly, he looked over at her to see her reaction and was relieved when she showed nothing. She was still sitting on the window seat, her arms wrapped around her legs like a street child, mostly ignoring him. He sighed, relieved at her lack of attention at his words and at the same time crushed by it. If Eponine had looked over at him she would have been disturbed by the fierce want in his eyes. She was almost driving him mad with her ignorance towards him and he felt part of his ever reliable control begin to crack.

"For everything. The home, the food, the clothes."

"Of course, Eponine." Javert drawled, feigning boredom as his eyes poured disinterestedly across his papers, and, in reality, listening to her words intently.

"No. Really." She said, standing up and looking at him directly. "You really are a saint. You've probably saved my life."

"And you saved mine." Javert said. He watched as she stepped over to him wearily and sat in the armchair opposite him. Slouching, Eponine rested her chin on her hand and her elbow on her knee and he diverted his eyes at the swelling of her breasts, now made visible by her poor posture. She grinned broadly at him, though the happiness did not reach her eyes. Javert suddenly felt very warm with her sitting so near him. Without blinking, he stared into her eyes so that his sight did not stray downwards. The result was that she was left slightly moved by his attentiveness towards her, and only slightly perturbed by his intensiveness.

"Now let's just try not to die." He huffed.


	12. Chapter 12

"I love you, Eponine." Marius said with a broad smile. "You are my everything. The Lark means nothing at all to me."

"I love you, too, Marius." Eponine said softly.

Laughing, she threw her arms around the young baron's neck and he ran his hands through her long, soft hair. The sunlight around them both was warm and, silently, Marius kissed her, passion and adoration ablaze in the young man's spirit. For a long time they did nothing but kiss until, slowly, he let his hands travel downwards to place themselves on her waist and on her ribcage, just below her breast. With closed eyes, Eponine felt herself being placed onto the bed and she let her arms fall beside her. The bed shifted slightly when Marius added his weight and he draped himself over her, earning a delighted noise from her mouth. Softly, he kissed her again before he placed another kiss on her neck, all the while writhing on top of her. His lips felt warm and magical as he traced them over her collarbone and the tops of her breasts. Tracing his hands over her chest, Marius and Eponine's lips met again and he began to unbutton the front of her taffeta gown, exposing her endowments to his eyes and to the warm air.

"I love you." She whispered breathlessly.

"I adore you."

At his words, Eponine stilled completely. The man's voice answering her proclamation of love was not Marius'. Blinking her eyes open slowly, she stared not into the deep, fresh green of her beloved's, but the faint jade of Javert's. The Baron had been replaced by the Inspector.

Without a word, he finished undressing her. Eponine watched, shocked into silence by his presence, as his haughty eyes looked over her body, seemingly unimpressed. She felt as if she was frozen or that she was carved from marble. She could not move a muscle as he looked over her, taking in each secret attribute meant for only the eyes of the mother, the wet nurse, and the husband.

"You're beautiful." Javert murmured.

Not a word more was spoken. Calmly, he pushed her back onto the bed roughly and shifted himself on top of her. Instinctively, she shifted her legs open to let him rest comfortably against her, something hot and insistent pressing between her thighs. In the cloudy, innocent mind of a virgin, Eponine could not imagine lovemaking to be as noisy as it is, especially with someone as silent as Javert. Not a sound filled the air as he broke inside of her, only excluding quiet breathing and the soft rustling of the bed clothes. There was no pain while he pierced the barrier that separates virgins from sluts as well, as the only pain felt in dreams is pain that exists in reality and filters through the veil of sleep. Callously, he moved in her, eyes lost in some far away place, refusing to show an ounce of gentleness. After what seemed like a millennium, he stopped, Eponine's inexperienced mind unable to procure a climax for him.

When it was done, the two lay in silence, the sun still drifting through the four-paneled window to encase them in a dusty light. Javert blinked often, his red hair slightly tussled as he held Eponine to his chest which had somehow become bare during their escapades. It seemed to her that he was lost in that relaxing place where no one has to think or worry about anything, though, if she would have looked over and noticed them, his eyes were nothing but contemptuous, as if she was just a street whore. At the same time that he was lost in thoughtlessness, she was still stilled into silence by the shock she had received when he had uttered those infallible words 'I adore you'. Her mind was racing with a million things, mostly the disbelief that she had just had carnal relations with Inspector Javert. Eyes still filled with superiority, he caressed her hair almost lovingly as she did nothing but stare at the ceiling.

After an eternity of silence, he took her for the second time and this time it was slightly more realistic. A cold bucket of horror was splashed over her face as he made love to her, his face filled with condescension. Realizing what she was doing and that it was not with Marius, Eponine opened her mouth to scream. Instead, she moaned and Javert answered this pleasured sound with a derisive laugh. This mocking sound which rang from his throat like the ringing of bells produced an effect on her that she could not describe. Uttering another pleased cry, Eponine continued to exclaim and Javert began to dig his fingers into her shoulders, shaking her against the surface of the bed so that the back of her head slammed into the soft surface of the pillows and mattress. As if possessed by some lustful being, she felt herself trace her mouth over his shoulder before applying a passionate kiss to his neck. Some sort of intense ecstasy burst through her and she could not help but say his name.

"_Jaaveeert,"_

Hearing his name being uttered that way had done it for Javert. He had been awkwardly sitting in silence while his ward made strange, unheard of noises in her sleep. Occasionally, he would give a glance to the window seat where she had fallen asleep in his parlor but he ignored her as best as he could. However, when he heard his name unconsciously produced from her throat in a tone that ached of sexuality, he could not help but jump up and take her shoulders in his hands to roughly shake the young lady awake.

"My God woman are you alright?" A loud voice exclaimed and Eponine jolted awake, suddenly finding herself face to face with the man whom, just a few seconds before, she had been dreaming of copulating with. Looking up at the Inspector, she could not help but blush furiously remembering her strange and unwanted fantasy.

"Get- get away from me!" Eponine said, squirming in his grasp. "I'm sorry I was having a. . . a nightmare." She finished lamely.

"I see." Javert said quietly, releasing her from his hold and looking at her with supreme contemplation. A nightmare? That did not sound like a nightmare, he told himself. Her little, surprised gasps had not been produced from fear and he knew all too well where they did come from. She'd been having a sinful dream, and with him in it. For a moment he fought the urge to grin like an idiot before remembering her proclamation that she had been experiencing a frightful dream. Inwardly, he sighed, filled with deep anguish and the fear that she did indeed hate him. "Are you alright now?" He asked obsequiously, hoping to gain some sort of her favor with his politeness.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine." She said, standing up and brushing past him.

"What was so frightening about it?" He blurted out quickly, seeing that she was headed for the door. The way he enunciated this question made it seem that he suspected what she had really been dreaming of and wanted to know why she would classify it as a nightmare.

"I don't know. I can't remember." She answered, even more hasty in her response than him in his question. Closing her hand over the doorknob, Eponine felt a surprisingly warm hand place itself over her shoulder.

"It wouldn't be me you are frightened of?" Javert asked in a mutter, staring at the back of her head.

For a long time they were both silent. Plucking up the courage to speak, Eponine cleared her throat before saying to him, "Is it so surprising? For nearly half my life you have been the symbol of the world's end to me. If I am caught, if I am arrested, my life might as well be over. Even though I know that you won't convict me that fear still lingers. I cannot stop being afraid of you just as much as a bird can forget how to fly."

"Perfectly sensible." He said.

"You think so?" She asked, her voice lilting in surprise.

"No."

Eponine murmured a small, dismayed 'oh' before turning to face him, leaning her back against the door and folding her arms over her chest.

"You needn't fear me. I won't arrest you." Javert said, mirroring her movement and crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're an imbecile if you think that's the only reason I would fear you. Look at you," She said, her eyes flitting from his strong arms to his fearsome face to the little sprig of gray hair just beside his right temple. Remembering her dream, she felt her mouth grow dry and she licked her lips. His face loomed alarmingly close to hers and Eponine let her arms drop to her sides, trying in vain to ignore the sudden warm pulsing in between her legs. With a quick cough, she managed to make the arousal in her vanish as quickly as it had appeared. "Tall, strong, imposing, fearsome. You would terrify any woman and any man smart enough to feel fear. Your eyes burn like fire but you are as cold as ice. I am a woman, you are a man. Of course I fear you. It's perfectly sensible."

"You shouldn't be so paranoid."

"Paranoia has probably saved my life at least a dozen times. I have a lot of rules, you see. The stakes are high in the gutter. One bad hand of cards and you lose the game, my brother used to say. If you think somebody is following you, vanish. If you think somebody is paying far too much attention to you than he should, disappear. If you catch a man's eye, melt back into the shadows where you belong. Otherwise, you might not find yourself in such a _good state of health._"

"Well, you are no longer in the gutter. You will not _lose the game_ here."

"How can I be so sure? I barely know you. And then, how am I not to know that you are not some deviant?"

"I give you my word as an officer of Paris and as a servant of the people." Javert said, his face still too close to hers for Eponine's comfort. "I will never hurt you."

For the second time, he felt himself drawing closer and closer to her. Perhaps there was an evil spirit in the room which had been playing tricks on the pair of them, turning Eponine's dream about Marius into a dream about Javert, and making Javert lean into her presence as if hypnotized by the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and the caution in her narrow brown eyes. His mouth was only a few inches away from her own and she could smell his breath. Strangely enough, she detected the smell of apples and, behind that, peppermints. If he had acted a few seconds faster, their lips would have met but, with a quick slam, Eponine had opened and shut the door behind her. The closed door collided with his face and Javert swore under his breath while rubbing his nose. For a moment, he pondered whether or not he should open the door and face her, though, in the end, he decided against it. Whatever she had been dreaming she had been doing with him, she would probably want to reflect about it on her own.

That is exactly what she did.

Never in her life had Eponine experienced an erotic dream and she was in horror to think that her first one had involved Inspector Javert. How on earth did her subconscious replace Marius with _him _of all people? She could not tell herself. The dream was surely a gift from the Devil, but perhaps God had worked his own message into the sin filled false reality. Was her Father trying to tell her to move on? Was Javert perhaps a better man for her than Marius? She scoffed at the thought. Marius was the single best man in the world. There was simply no competition between the young, fresh eyed student and the wolfish policeman. _But, _a small voice in the back of her mind whispered, _weren't you enjoying it just before you woke up?_

"What was I thinking!" She hissed to herself. "Enjoying that? With him? How absurd!"

* * *

**This is an incredibly short chapter, I know. You'll have to forgive me. I had an audition yesterday that I've been preparing for for ages and I found out several nights ago that I have carpal tunnel syndrome so it's been a pain to write. If you haven't already heard of it, an amazing writer and reader of this story has another Javert/Eponine story called Terminus, which is incredibly beautiful and which I am severely jealous of. It's gorgeously dark like a Les Mis fanfic should be (unlike mine -_-), and I definitely suggest reading it. Another reader of this story, Etspera, who is just a god damn sweetheart, wrote a Javert/Eponine one shot which is quite lovely as well. It's called Ink and Starch and is truly a nice read.  
**

**Alright, all plugging aside, thank you as always. TTFN.  
**


	13. Chapter 13

**This is an incredibly LONG chapter. Forgive me, there was no easy way to split it into two.**

* * *

Eponine slowly transfigured into a lady, though her rough personality remained the same. She refused to be treated as if she was some weak woman. As soon as she was able to, she saw to herself perfectly, denying all help that was offered to her, from Sophie tying her corset, to Emile pulling her chair back for her at meal times, to Javert offering her a hand of assistance whenever she walked past him. She was proud to be as independent as she could and Javert silently praised her for this. She seemed to be a nice change from all the flowery woman who fainted at every surprise, those irritating things he almost hated to be in the presence of.

Javert observed Eponine intently, one might say even sweetly as each man's first love is a sweet one, filled with all the innocence of that first taste of dreamland. More than once he had found himself yearning to touch her. This had evolved in a need to kiss her. This had then proceeded to other manly wants, of which he was vastly frightened of. This fear is a perfectly plausible one. Lust has been the downfall of many great and powerful men throughout history; who was to say the accentuated curve of the scrawny girl's hips, waist, and breasts wouldn't be Javert's own downfall? It was alarmingly true that he had found himself too distracted by these womanly images so vivid in his mind to the point where he had had to set down his pen. Only by forcing himself to think of other things to cool his temperature was he able to return to work.

The moment Jean Valjean freed him, Javert had begun to rip apart over his duty as an officer, and his duty as a man. His soul had been split roughly into two pieces. In his vulnerable state, somebody had found him and placed herself between these two pieces. That somebody was Eponine. She had filled a dark, empty void within him. He was so grateful for the resplendence she had brought him that he could not help but feel for her.

The next few months passed in a similar fashion as the ones before; the only difference was that Eponine had begun to talk more often. Several conversations had been made between Javert and Eponine, much to his secret delight, though all of her topics seemed to be born from sadness or a strange kind of bitter anger she often professed to him. On a cloudy day in mid February, he had found her in a wonderfully talkative mood. He was idly lounged about in his usual place by the fire, taking time to rest after a long day patrolling the frosty winter streets. She had taken refuge in the chair opposite him, abandoning her usual post near the window.

"Monsieur Marius never loved me. And then, I'm sure he never noticed that I loved him. He probably only passed it off as strange behavior from not eating. People behave very strangely when they have not eaten in some time. The world is an odd place when your stomach is empty."

Javert's eyes flitted upwards to glance at her. This was the second time she had spoken to him about that boy she found so wonderful, other than the first hurried description she had given him when she feared for his life.

"I know." Javert said, his voice dripping with fake annoyance, every now and then flipping the pages of some small, leather bound book, boredom possessing his every feature. Though, it could be noticed, his eyes did not move back and forth over each line of his tome.

"No, he never noticed, even when I was reduced to just being a poor dog at his feet, ready to die for him. That is all I was, that is all I am now, just a poor dog at his feet. Did you know that he is a baron? It is true, he told me himself, he even has little cards that have Baron Marius Pontmercy printed on them." For a moment, Eponine was silent until she gave a terrible sigh. "Sometimes I fear he hates me."

"If he treated you so poorly why is he such a wonder to you?" He asked, exasperatedly shutting his book with a small 'snap' and looking up at her. Through her dreamy romantic descriptions and testimonies of the Pontmercy boy, Javert had slowly begun to hate the man whom he barely knew. It seemed that, in her coquettish monologues about him, Eponine viewed Marius as the most fascinating being in the world, however, to him, Javert, it seemed he was a snobbish boy, rude and obnoxious towards her and much too preoccupied with himself. He had concluded that the young baron must be the source of her constant despair. The merest mention of this boy ignited fury in his soul and he had finally reached his breaking point. He could simply not stay silent any longer.

"He does not see that he treats me so, you must realize. He is a frantic boy, you see, he is very preoccupied with his work."

"That is no excuse. _I _am very preoccupied with work but that does not mean I would ignore someone so devoted to me." He grumbled. "No good man would."

Eponine was silent, feeling slightly offended at the implication that Marius was not a good man, but she did not speak as she could not formulate a response. Hot coals seemed to smolder in her stomach, a fire having been lit under them at her love's insult. This fiery hotness reached her face and Eponine's cheeks turned red as her eyes lit like two angry suns. Furiously, she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

"So now the faithful dog cannot defend its master?" Javert sneered. Before she could retaliate, however, he continued. "You are angry, I see, but I speak the truth. I would never treat you that way. If your Marius had an inkling of intellect in his soul he would have noticed you. His cruelty was out of blindness, but it is still cruelty."

"But you cannot blame him for his cruelty," Eponine said, coldly. "And you very well know the reason. Anyone who looked at me would know the reason. Ugly girl, people call me, homely, strange, scrawny, gross, hideous, gaunt."

"Yes, because you are so very ugly!" He spat, sarcastically, standing up to place his little leather bound book on the mantel of the fireplace. "Because I feel sick with nausea each time I look upon your face!"

"Exactly!" She exclaimed, ignoring his sarcastic tone. He looked down to see she was smiling at him, defiance blazing in her eyes as she turned his attempt to compliment her into an insult.

"Please," Javert murmured, his voice barely above a faint whisper, laying his large, gloved hand on her thin face. "There is nothing in your face but light. I have watched as the darkness within you has receded, only fleeing to the furthest corners of your mind." Though it seemed that he was complimenting her, there was a certain sharpness to his vowels that stung in her ears and she gave an internal wince. "Your miserable thoughts about your Marius torment you in those corners filled with darkness. But I will tell you, darkness is only the absence of light as cold is the absence of heat. Your darkness makes me weary as it makes your face weary, but in those moments when there is not a single shadow in your pale features you appear to be as beautiful as any one of God's angels."

Calmly, he turned to face the fireplace and his hand made a fist in the air, jerking it slightly once to emphasize his speech. "Stop dwelling on those fading thoughts," He continued. "Your forlornness is what makes you appear to be ugly. I've spent my entire life protecting the people from the wicked darkness. Be light and be beautiful, be dark and be ugly. It is your choice." All this he said without turning his back to face her, and when his speech was ended he found he had pressed his forehead to the fireplace mantel, eyes closed tiredly. The feelings within him sparked and flared and he felt an almost searing pain in his chest. It was his agonizing want of her that caused him so much pain.

"You talk to me like I am a woman." Eponine said quietly, almost as if she was questioning him. Her hands were folded together in her lap and she seemed almost hurt, as if his statements had all been as sarcastic as his previous words. Her eyes again drawn to the window on the other side of the room, she refused to look at his form leaning over the lit fireplace.

"You are a woman." Javert said, turning around to face her and raising a solitary finger in the air. "But not just any woman. You are a lady. A most remarkable lady."

Javert found himself suddenly doing something unexpected, as he had often been doing lately. Like a man jumping from a great height, he accomplished it only by lunging forward suddenly, meanwhile ignoring all of the thoughts in his head and focusing on the woman in front of him. Quickly, he leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, his hand replacing itself under Eponine's chin to incline her head towards his, his other hand clutching her arm. It was nothing at all like the kiss they had shared before, which had been slow and careful. This meeting of flesh was hasty and clumsy, but Eponine was no less surprised as the first time. As before, she opened her eyes wide in shock and tried to push him away by placing her hands on his chest and shoving him backwards roughly. This time, she succeeded.

"I apologize." Javert said frantically, stepping away from her, his eyes glittering in shock at his own actions. "I don't know what overcame me."

Eponine stared back at him, equally as shocked. Her mouth was still moist from his, and her lips were left slightly parted in surprise. Her hands were still raised before her from where she had pushed him away and it seemed as if her entire person had become extremely disheveled.

Calmly, Javert turned and smoothed his hair back before straightening his cravat.

"Well," He said, clearing his throat. "Well, I. . . ."

A soft knock was heard at the door.

"Enter." Javert permitted, thankful for a distraction.

"There is a man here to see you." Emile said, standing in the doorway. "He says he comes from the the Rue de l'Homme-Arme, no. 7. He says that it is urgent that he speak to you."

"Seven," He whispered to himself. A sudden bolt of electricity ripped through him. Rue de l'Homme-Arme no. 7 was where Jean Valjean lived. "Let him in. Now."

Eponine watched as an old man entered the room somberly. His pale forehead seemed waxy with despair and looked almost as if it had been carved by a sculptor displaying the grotesque features of old age. His hair was a shock of white and lay on his head in small tufts, a bit like a duckling's down. He was dressed as a workingman, though his posture and air suggested otherwise. In his large, seemingly gentle hands, he held a bowler hat in his fingers which he occasionally twirled, running his thumbs over the coarse brim. He was slightly hunched over, not with old age, but with a deep sadness, and his eyes were dropped to the floor. When he caught sight of Eponine in his peripheral vision, he looked up and gave her a small smile, though it only seemed to send waves of depression into his eyes. Slowly, she began to feel as if she had seen this man before, once in some far away memory.

"Good evening, Inspector Javert." He said and she felt a pang in her heart. She had never seen someone so miserable.

"Why are you here?" Javert asked, not bothering to return the old man's greeting.

"I have come to tell you that yesterday my daughter was married. She is now the wife of Baron Marius Pontmercy."

"And why is this so important to tell me?" Javert asked, irritatedly, giving a sideways glance at Eponine, concerned she would become hysterical. However, she seemed completely normal.

Here, Jean Valjean hesitated, following Javert and glancing at the girl situated before the fireplace. As if sensing that he would not talk any further in her presence, Eponine stood and left silently, only her eyes lingering on Javert, those brown orbs still dimmed in confusion. Although, when she closed the door of the parlor behind her, she stayed and leaned against the oaken panel, listening to whatever snips of muffled conversation she could hear through the door. If anything concerned Marius, she wanted to hear it.

"Who is that girl?" The old man asked quietly, his eyes looking at the door she had left through. "Is she your daughter?"

"She is my adoptive daughter. Some girl I owed something to."

"I didn't know you were paternal."

"What are you doing here?" Javert repeated, glaring at the old convict with suspicion.

"My daughter is married, she does not need me, I am alone." He rambled gravely, clasping his heart to his breast. "My angel has been snatched from me."

"And this is important, why?"

"It is important because I am dying."

"Don't be ridiculous." He spat.

"It is true. I only have a few months left, I believe. No, it will not be long."

"You cannot be serious, Valjean. You may be a thief but you are not an imbecile."

Jean Valjean was silent.

"You cannot be serious!" Javert nearly shouted, his old sneer resurfacing to his face. "The bane of my career comes to tell me he is dying? Well, how now, Jean Valjean, you old criminal, would you like some sympathy? How about we talk about it over a cup of tea?"

"I did not come here for sympathy, Javert." The old man said calmly.

"Then why are you here? I could arrest you if I wanted!"

"No particular reason. I merely thought you should be informed. It almost seems as if we are old friends."

"Friends? Friends! Take care, Valjean!" Javert shouted, gripping the old man's lapels in his hands and shaking him roughly. "I am glad you are dying! I detest you, I despise you, I hate you, I loathe you! I am going mad because of you and your filthy pity! If only you had killed me at the barricades I would not be torn so! You had no right to free me! You have turned the law upside down! You have turned my life upside down! Did you know, I tried to drown myself in the river, all because of you! That girl pulled me back from the parapet at the last moment. I owe her my life, now, all because of you. I have never owed anyone a thing my entire life! But no, not anymore, Valjean, because I now owe two people for saving my life. You have ruined me! I am strange, I am different, each time I look at the woman I feel as if I am drowning! She has saved me from one river only to plunge me into another!"

"You love her."

"Oh, of course I do!" He snapped. "The man who does not know what love is and who detests all things criminal is in love with the daughter of a cutthroat! That seems quite plausible, don't you think? How wonderfully ironic!" Javert paused only long enough to inhale and slam his fist against the wall. "I don't know." He said, raggedly. "I do not even know who I am anymore."

"If you love her, then you will understand why I am dying." Jean Valjean said, stooping down again in heartbreak. "I loved her, I love her still, but I can no longer be near her. I am sinister, I am tainted, I cannot impose on her happiness. Yes, I will die soon. Die from love, die from misery."

It was Javert's turn to be silent.

"I think I shall leave now." The old man murmured, standing up and walking over to the door. He placed his hand on the wrought iron knob and, on the other side, Eponine instinctively moved away, fleeing to her bedroom directly upstairs so as not to be caught eavesdropping. "I do not think we shall meet again. Farewell, Javert."

"Farewell, Jean Valjean." He whispered. "Farewell, 24601."

After the old man had left, Javert sat in the parlor alone, his face buried in his hands, contemplating himself and the old man. Lost deep in his reflection, he almost did not hear the loud crash that came from upstairs. Remembering Eponine's strange reaction to the news that her boy had married, he found himself at her door within a minute. He stepped into her bedroom to find her gingerly removing her fist from the wall where she had buried it in the plaster.

"I'm sorry. I couldn't control myself. I just knew I needed to do something or something bad would happen." Eponine explained quickly, looking down at her fingers and opening them slowly.

"That's alright." Javert sighed, stepping towards her and examining her hand carefully. "We can get the wall fixed. It's you I'm worried about."

_He's worried about me? _she thought to herself, his voice reverberating on he inside of her skull strangely.

Eponine was silent and he spread her fingers out carefully, taking his time to add extra gentleness. Though her knuckles had been scraped while penetrating the wall, there was not a single trace of blood to be found on her small hand. Little indentations had been made where her fingernails had dug into the palm of her clenched fist, but he did not notice these. Javert was too preoccupied with a thin line that curved itself from the base of her thumb to the place where her ring finger and little finger met. He realized it was the scar she had received when she had snatched his dagger away from him on the night he had tried to kill himself.

"That's odd. . . ." He said to himself, running a thumb over the scar thoughtfully.

"It hurts."

"I would expect so. You just slammed your hand into a wall."

"Not my hand. I don't care about that. It's stupid since I was the one who gave him the address. And then, I saw him go through the gate enough times. He adores her, he loves her, she is beautiful and I am nothing but a mongrel." Eponine paused to sigh and her eyes became glassy, frosted over with utter depression. She seemed completely lost in some far off world. "It's stupid and it's useless, but it still hurts. I was dreaming, Inspector. I am always dreaming, even when I am awake. It never ends. But I can no longer pretend now that they are truly together. The dreams are dying." Her eyes suddenly brightened, refocusing on the man in front of her. Subconsciously, Javert raised his hands and gripped her shoulders, alarmed by her strange words. "It's improper for a man to be in a woman's room. You should leave."

"No." Javert stated firmly, tightening his grip on her and leaning his face into hers closely. "Let me help you."

"There is no way you can help me." She sneered, shaking him off of her and stepping towards the window. "Leave."

"No." He repeated.

"Leave. Now."

"Please!" Javert shouted, turning her around and roughly shoving her against the window to face him. "You say you are in pain. Show me some way to help you."

Eponine was silent and she glared at him. The soft mound of her breasts pressed against his chest and Javert was suddenly aware that he was pinning her to the wall with his body. For a moment, the sweet smell of her intoxicated him and he found himself pressing into her even further. In this intoxication, he could not discern right from wrong, nor was he aware of his actions. Her near presence gave him a high, as if he had just downed a bottle of absinthe, and, at that moment, he would have done anything he wanted to her without thinking about it first. However, enveloped in her scent, he did not feel a need to do a thing so as long as her thin form continued to hold itself against his. A small, seemingly feral sound scratched itself within his throat and Eponine began to feel more and more alarmed at his reaction to her. With closed eyes, Javert bent his head down and sighed as his lips brushed against the soft flesh of her shoulder. With a shiver, Eponine could not help but remember Montparnasse pressing her into the wall of an alleyway, forcing himself against her. Further alarm invaded her when she remembered the dream she had experienced previously and she felt another rush of blood between her legs.

Though she had refused to acknowledge it before, Eponine recognized a barely familiar kind of attraction towards Javert. Perhaps it was his clean, soapy smell, or maybe it was the way he never hesitated to touch her, or it might have been something completely different, but she could not suppress the same aching desire she felt whenever she caught a wiff of Marius' sweet scent. The inside of her center seemed to clench and burn and she desperately needed something, though she did not know what. Filled with a sweetly innocent lust, the only thing Eponine saw that could give her the medicine to soothe her aching was Inspector Javert, and it took her entire will power not to give into the spell he had over her. A deep toll of fear struck midnight in her mind and the terrifying thought that, if she did not seperate from him immediately, she would not be able to control herself in her desires.

"What are you doing? Get away from me!"

With a surprising strength, Eponine shoved him away from her and Javert snapped back to reality. He coughed quietly and backed away from her.

"Let me show you something." He said, his voice slightly raspy after being so close to her.

Calmly, he removed his black glove and held up his bare hand to her. Stretching from the base of his thumb to the valley between his ring and little fingers was a thin, white scar, carving itself over his palm. Several months previous, Javert had shattered a bar glass in his grip. This scar was the product of one of the lacerations produced by the shards of glass that had embedded themselves in his palm.

"That's not a coincidence."

Eponine shook her head in agreement, eying the scar as if it was a dangerous animal twitching in the street ominously.

"I will not lie to you any longer." Javert said. "You drive me mad with your anguish. But that is not the only thing you drive me mad with." Blinking his eyes, he watched as she closed her own slowly when he placed a single hand on her thin waist. "Do you remember how I said I would never hurt you?"

"Yes?"

"I lied." He whispered menacingly, clutching her arms again and squeezing her hard, making her skin prickle over with fear. "There is danger behind the insanity I feel towards you. I am almost afraid of myself, I think. Afraid that I will not be able to control myself for much longer. Each time you are near me I find it harder and harder not to do unspeakable things to you. And then I frighten myself even more. This is not right, I tell myself. You are just a girl. But I can't make myself stop wanting you any more than I can stop day turning to night." He paused to stare into her eyes seriously, finding nothing but pure alarm looking back at him. Casually, Javert raised his hand to her eyes and slid her lids down so that he did not have to witness her fear while making his confession. "I may be an officer, but I was a man first. If you deny me I am almost certain I would not be able to stop myself from violating you. I am worse than that boy who tried to rape you."

"Make me forget." She muttered, her eyes still closed. "I don't want to remember anymore. I don't want to dream about him anymore. Darkness makes me ugly, you say, and you protect the people from darkness. I am a person, too. Protect me from the darkness. Do whatever you want with me, just get rid of the pain. Replace Marius if you want to. He replaced me even though I was never his to begin with. He never even noticed me, but you have. Who knows, maybe I could come to adore you just as much as I adored him. You said you want to help me, so do it. I don't want to be sad anymore, I want to forget all of those miserable memories. Drown out my sorrows. But for now just. . . hold me?"

He stood slightly shocked. He realized that the girl who had been living with him for the past few months was not the one he had admired before. The proud, bitter, clever girl of the slums had vanished behind some pale ghost in fancy gowns. When she had uttered the last two words of her request it seemed that the ghost disappeared, replaced once again by the furious fire that usually consumed her to light up her eyes with spunk. Those last two syllables had been of a different tone. Her voice was no longer the sorrowful murmur it had been before. Though desperate, it seemed almost hopeful. He looked at her gravely and Eponine half expected him to blurt out a rejection.

Wrapping his arms around her, Javert placed his lips on the top of her head before placing his lips over hers. Anyone who would have witnessed this quick act would have seen him showing no hint of emotion whatsoever. He remained impassive and silent as a deep sense of protectiveness rushed through his body. It was almost like the pride he got from being a police officer, but this seemed more personal. At this glorious feeling, he smiled proudly. Looking at him and seeing his usual haughtiness, Eponine could not help but laugh at his perfectly calm manner. His expression suggested such complete ordinance that he may have just simply announced that he would be leaving for work.

From his view in the window, he thought he saw a man dressed in a navy blue uniform with fair hair pause in the street and look up at them. Before leaving, he seemed to have shaken his head to himself in disbelief.


	14. Chapter 14

For nearly four months, Montparnasse had been held in solitary confinement, incarcerated in a little cell that could hardly be constituted as a cage. Before, his habitat had not been nearly as oppressive, but, on his second night in the Paris prison, he had murdered his cellmate. When confronted about this murder, the young dandy merely shrugged and explained that the other man's snoring was preventing him from sleeping. This killing which the young man treated as something as natural as breathing lingered through the law ominously and, in addition to the four months of imprisonment he had received for attempted assault on a woman, he had received fourteen years more for murder. For harassment and murder, he would serve less time than one particular man who stole a loaf of bread for his starving family and tried to free himself for his wrongful conviction.

However, criminals always have ways of communication. Notes had been passed, symbolic food and other objects had been exchanged, there were even corrupt prison guards working against the law from the inside. Patron-Minette had been working non stop to free one of their craftiest criminals. Though it would be a hassle to break him out of prison, these ugly goblins of the night that made up the gang of thieves and cutthroats saw his escape to their own benefit. Montparnasse never missed a thing. He was often the person that came up with places and people to rob and not the tiniest jewel escape him during a theft. On top of that, it had always seemed to the other criminals that the handsome young man had a sixth sense. There had been more than one occasion where he had suddenly stopped during a heist, looked up from his job warily, and announced that the police would be there within moments and that it was time to clear out. There were, by far, no means of companionship towards Montparnasse's maggoty brothers of darkness. Patron-Minette simply found him too useful to rot in prison when he could be making money for them.

Soon, the young man would be leaving prison. But now, as he sat in the dark by himself, blinking into the endless black abyss before his eyes, he thought of only one thing: Eponine. He could not help dwelling on several happy memories he and the gang leader's daughter had shared in the past.

_Eponine and Montparnasse were walking down the street, looking for a shelter from the slight drizzle that felt against their cheeks. The two were still only children, though the two friends had begun to notice the changes of adolescence within each other. She was looking less like a girl and more like a woman, and his voice had cracked more than once while the two spoke to one another. As the pair's walking continued, occasionally their hands would bump, a motion that, before, they would have both been completely comfortable with it. But now, as they both began to experience the awkwardness produced by teenage years, they would each jerk their hands away from each other quickly and tried their best to ignore the fact that this small contact had ever happened. _

_"Hey, 'Parnasse?"_

_"Yeah, 'Ponine?" _

_"Why've you been spending so much more time with my dad than with me lately? I thought we were friends."_

_"We are friends, 'Ponine. Best friends."_

_"Alright." Eponine said, reassured by the young Montparnasse's words. "But why _have _you been spending so much time with my dad and his friends?"_

_"Ah, it's nothing. Just work stuff, don't worry about it. Since my dad split your dad and his friends've kind of been looking out for me." _

_"Oh, I get it!" She exclaimed, happily. The hatred she had for her father had not yet consumed Eponine and, in her young eyes, he seemed like a saint. "But promise me something."_

_"Yes?"_

_"Promise me!"_

_"I promise!"_

_"Promise me that we'll always be friends."_

_"Definitely, 'Ponine."_

Montparnasse could not help but feel guilty about evoking his promise. He and Eponine had not remained friends for long. By the time they were each sixteen they barely spoke to each other. It had come to the point where, if they crossed each other in the street, they would not even acknowledge one other.

_Montparnasse was wandering down the boulevard looking for some moron to rob, though he would probably give up his pursuit soon. It was pouring rain and his fashionable coat would soon be soaked through if he didn't get out of the chilly weather. Stepping into a dark, seemingly deserted side street, he nearly passed by the house where Thenardier and his family lived without even giving it a glance. But, as he stepped past the door, something caught his eye. At first, he thought it was a dog huddled on the steps until he realized it was wearing a torn and tattered blouse and skirt. Though Eponine pressed herself against the door, she had no shield whatsoever from the rain. The gleam of a bottle hid itself in her hand and the emaciated girl looked up at Montparnasse before raising the bottle to his face._

_"Want some?" She asked, and he shook his head. "Oh yeah. I forgot. You don't drink."_

_"You're drunk." He commented._

_"And wet."_

_"Then why don't you go inside?"_

_"Dad kicked me out. Said that I was making too much noise."_

_Montparnasse looked down at her coldly, his face completely blank. As if he was about to steal something, he looked around himself with the darting eyes of a fox, making sure there was not a single person in the street to witness the act he was about to perform. Feeling sympathy towards some ugly girl was something for him to be embarrassed about. Quickly, he tore off his jacket and placed it over Eponine's shoulders before walking away. _

_"Hey!" She shouted behind him. "Hey, 'Parnasse!"_

_Seeing that he would not stop walking for her, Eponine caught up to him and tugged at his arm, holding his coat over her shoulders by clutching a fold of it to her neck with one hand. He made to shake her off, eager to get home now that he had no coat to keep him from getting sick. However, when Montparnasse turned, he found a single red rose being presented to him. The stem had been snapped roughly and the thorns had pressed themselves through her skin, making little beads of blood appear on her palm and fingers. In her drunkenness, she neither felt nor noticed the thorns embedding themselves in her hands. _

_"For you." _

_"Thanks." He said, taking the flower in his hand. What am I supposed to do with a stupid flower? he asked himself. _

_Eponine jerked her head over to a little yard and he could not help but notice a disturbed looking rose bush. He watched silently as she left, walking backwards so that she could watch him in return. In her intoxication, she stumbled slightly and thought it best to turn around and walk normally back to her post at the steps. Quietly, he pressed the red petals to his lips and inhaled deeply while looking after her retreating form. When she sat back down in front of her house, she smiled and waved at him and Montparnasse could not help but feel slightly dazzled by this burst of happiness. While he had been in the process of being initiated into the Patron-Minette, Eponine had slowly been losing her prettiness. The young criminal was under the complete impression that he wanted nothing to do with his ugly old friend, but, as a police officer stated previously, every time Eponine showed a display of happiness a glimmer of her old beauty shone through her ugly mask. For the next couple of years, Montparnasse would make it his number one priority to sleep with her._

From that moment onwards he had had a strange fascination with red roses. Montparnasse almost never went without one in his possession. The people who knew and feared this young man began to associate the object with fear, pain, and crime. More than once had one of his victims found a red rose painted on their front door after a robbery. The Paris Police Prefecture was sent into waves of fury every time they came face to face with one of these haphazard paintings and, although they knew it was the handsome young dandy who strolled through the streets displaying his signature piece between his teeth proudly, they could not convict him for lack of evidence. A simple gift from an ugly girl to a handsome boy created a great and terrible symbol. Darkness had turned beauty into fear.

One final memory struck Montparnasse as important. It was the memory of his last glimpse of light: the day of his arrest.

_It was hot and the sun was blinding and he was aching for a woman's company. His needs were simply so great that he could not bring himself to stop pestering Eponine. Using his usual slick and slimy tricks he had gotten her into an alleyway and thought that at last he had found his triumph. Until he heard the only voice in the world that could induce chills in his spirit. _

_In a mere matter of moments, he had lost consciousness, but before he had been beaten into submission a husky voice rang through the air, demanding his freedom. _

Montparnasse had not forgotten Eponine's attempts to let him go, even if they were in vain. He could not help but feel grateful towards her for trying to persuade the police to free him, even when he had so obviously been in the wrong, even after he had tried to rape her. Surely, he told himself, there had to be a reason for her attempting to free him. In his befuddled and slightly romantic mind, Montparnasse could only come up with one explanation.

"She loves me! Yes, that must be it!" He exclaimed aloud and he was answered with the sharp clang of nightstick against iron bars.

"What are you on about?" The gruff voice of the prison guard demanded.

"And she is a good girl! No wonder she wouldn't let me touch her, she is just a good girl. And she is not so ugly, either. When she smiles she seems almost like her old self. Oh yes, she must love me! And then, I love her, too! Yes, yes, as soon as I get out of here we will have a wedding! We will be so happy!"

"So, you've finally gone mad. Well, it's about time. You've been in there for nearly four months."

"Four months? Has it really been that long? Oh, everyday will seem like an eternity now that we are parted."

"Alright then, have a fun time in your eternity, you miserable wretch. Now you can shut up."

Montparnasse did as the man said and dwelled in his new found wonderland: his admiration of Eponine. In his eyes he began to paint her as the kindest saint, the holiest angel, the most perfect red rose in existence. He was the worshiping peasant, she the beautiful queen. His entire world began to revolve around the image of her face in his memory. In his incarceration, he had nothing better to do but think of her. Not a second was wasted for him while he sat in the filth of his tiny cell, awaiting his freedom that would come from the grubby hands of cut throats on the outside.

Officer Liviet stepped out of the street Inspector Javert lived on. He had been out patrolling as usual when he had looked up into the girl's window to see a disturbing scene act itself out before his eyes. She had seemed upset at first, and, alone in her room, he watched fascinated as she buried her hand in the plaster of the wall. Not a moment later had his superior officer stepped into her room. Liviet had half expected Javert to yell at her for putting a hole in his wall, but his outburst never came. The Inspector had instead examined her hand, almost as if he was concerned. The two had exchanged a few words and, next, the man in the window had gripped the girl's shoulders seriously, his face leaning into hers dangerously close. Almost as if repulsed, she had shaken him away and stepped closer to the window.

There was a split second where, from his post in the street, Officer Liviet had raised his hand slightly. A passerby might have said he was about to wave at the girl in the window, but he let his hand drop back to his waist when he witnessed what happened next. Silently, he watched without the slightest twitch while Inspector Javert pressed her against the window and assumed an expression that seemed terrifying to the young man in the street. In Javert's face he identified a strange portrayel of pleasure. As he pressed into her, the Inspector's face held a scowl, something he did often while concentrating. Despite the sneer plastered over his pale features, the corner of his lips were turned upwards gently in an almost smile, revealing clenched teeth. The appearance he assumed almost seemed sexual. It looked as if he was struggling to control himself. Eponine, with her darting eyes, seemed terrified to have the Inspector so close to her.

A cold shiver ran down Officer Liviet's back as he imagined what the immensely strong man could be capable of doing to a woman. He found he did not like to dwell on the thought, but he did not want to rip his eyes away from the sight that was unfolding in the window, either. Feeling a duty towards the girl who saved his life, Liviet found he could not bring himself to abandon her. Suspicion towards his superior officer began to flare within him and he had a sneaking idea that Javert was taking advantage of his ward. He was in her room, after all, and he seemed to be displaying arousal towards her openly. Liviet vowed that if the man's intentions began to proceed further, he would stop it immediately.

He looked up in time to see Eponine shove the Inspector away from her and he was relieved to see that whatever had overcome him had vanished. Javert was immersed in his usual blank self again. A strange moment took place where the Inspector removed his glove and raised his hand in front of her eyes and she examined him carefully before taking a small step backwards. It appeared that she was talking to him. At first, her face seemed cloaked in misery but by the time her pink lips had stopped moving she seemed considerably brighter. Without answering her, the Inspector looked at her gravely before enveloping her in his arms and placing a kiss to the top of her head. Liviet stumbled and took a step back when he placed his lip over hers quickly, unaware that anybody was capable of seeing him from the street. To his great horror, she seemed to return the Inspector's kiss without a hint of repulsion. He even thought he heard her laugh happily. Looking into her eyes now, he saw a trace of something he had not seen in a long time. Once again, the old spark of her former self had caught flame and her grin was once again willful, once again proud, and once again gleeful. It was the girl he had tried to arrest, the girl who saved his life in a street scuffle, and the girl he felt for.

Coughing, the young man shook his head of fair hair to himself and continued his patrol down the street, although he would not make any arrests for the rest of the day. Liviet would find himself too distracted by the disturbing image of Javert kissing his ward in her room to examine possible crime close enough to make any convictions. He was also distracted by something else. Deep within a recess of himself he did not even know he possessed, Lestan de Liviet felt a cold fire blaze alive in him, trickling itself through each of his limbs and out through his finger tips. Throughout the past few months he had developed an everyday routine during his patrol, including a daily passing through the street on which Javert lived. Every day for the past few months he had grown accustomed to seeing Eponine sitting at her window, looking out at the world. Occasionally, she would notice him and he would nod or wave at her, finding supreme joy when she acknowledged him. Sometimes, if it was warm and her window was open and she happened to be in a remarkably good mood, he would be able to catch a few lines of song emanating from her throat. Though her voice was rough, low, and scratchy, the huskiness her vocal chords produced had a certain appeal to them. Sitting in her window with her hair brushed meticulously perfect and her face clean of all filth, she seemed pretty to him with her wide eyes that never seemed devoid of thought.

The cold fire that consumed him was something nearly every human being can relate to. Deep within him he felt the hot ice of envy etch itself into his very being, igniting him completely in both rage that somebody else was touching his beloved and sadness that it seemed she would touch him in return willingly. Who was he envious of? The Inspector. Like Javert and like Montparnasse, Lestan de Liviet had begun to fall in love with the girl from the gutter, the red flower who grew out of the filth of the slums and stretched her open petals wide towards the sun, standing in her triumphant surroundings proudly, perfectly aware of her beauty and strength.


	15. Chapter 15

Javert's lips moved against hers, silent but sure, growing more and more wanton by the second.

"Shouldn't you be getting to work?" Eponine said as soon as he parted his mouth from hers.

"Yes." Javert answered her, his voice thick and hot, refusing to move an inch as he held her body to his tight. Heatedly, he claimed her lips again and moved against her, relishing in the warmth her body produced against his. Though he was in complete bliss, if Javert opened his eyes he would notice she was not quite as happy as him. In fact, she was not very happy at all. She had thought that, by replacing Marius with someone else, she would learn to love them just as much as she loved the poor student who had once been her neighbor. Eponine soon learned that she was wrong. She almost regretted giving the Inspector the pleasure of forming a relationship with her, but she did not feel the need to end it. She had never experienced companionship before and, even if she did not care for him much, she did not want to lose the knowledge that he cared for her.

The only pleasure Eponine received from her new found relationship was the contagiousness of Javert's happiness. He refused to show it, but she felt the joy that radiated through the air when he was near her. She could not help but smile at him. She had never seen a person filled with so much solace portray such a solemn face. Even now as he kissed her his face was completely and utterly serious. It was nearly comical, she found it so amusing. Eponine could not stand to take that happiness away from him; as long as he needed her she would have to stay with him.

Although she truly wanted him to be happy, she could not stop herself from her usual addiction, though she tried over and over again to quit. Unable to dispel Marius from her mind, she went on her usual trips with her imagination, closing her eyes and pretending that the man kissing her was her beloved. It was cruel, even if Javert did not know about her fantasies, but she could not stop. She felt another hot poker in her twisted conscious, as well. By granting the Inspector permission to wrap his fingers in her hair and slip his lips over hers, she felt as if she was betraying Marius. For so long she had stayed true and chaste for him, but that had been broken the moment she had heard word that her boy and the Lark had married. Wistfully, she began to think that if Marius discovered she had betrayed his nonexistent affections he would be filled with utter disappointment with her.

While Eponine was going mad over guilt with her addiction, Javert was in complete ecstasy. A few hazy, exotically scented weeks had passed while he was in awe of the fact that she allowed him to touch and even kiss her. To him, the thin, homely girl seemed a goddess fallen from Mount Olympus to grace him with her presence, a beautiful being still capable of strength and power. He loved the fact that she was not afraid of physically hurting him. Many times she had playfully twisted his wrist or laid a rough punch to his arm. Eponine was completely abusive to him, but Javert did not care. It only further proved her differences between the dumb, feathery things of his aristocratic society that he hated so.

Th goddess had healed the ripping in his soul and he no longer felt the agony and confliction he experienced when thinking of Jean Valjean. Javert only felt the warm numbness produced from the anesthetic of sweet bliss. Though he did not transform himself, he now understood why men turned into mooning idiots when in love.

His lips fell to her neck and she gasped softly as one large, gloved hand found its way to the side of her chest. Pressing her against the wall of his office even further, Javert moaned softly, enticed by the feel of her breasts bursting against his firmly pressed uniform. Eponine remained still, not even making an attempt to stop him as he placed his large hands over her hips and waist. For the first time, she saw him as a man. He no longer seemed to be the stony-hearted, cruel being he was before. The ice around his soul had melted, exclusively for her, and he behaved like a normal man, intoxicated by the very prospect of a woman so near him.

Though he truly adored her, Javert concluded to himself that it would be best if their relationship remained a secret. What would people say about the two of them? The possibilities were endless. He made it a point to take his ward out into public where he treated her as just that: his ward and nothing else. He could not help but remember his fellow officer's predictions that the two were lovers. Javert did not want to give them the satisfaction of knowing that they were right about the pair of them. Adding to that fact, he also did not want to give Eponine a reputation she did not deserve. She had already been struggling enough the past few months, thrust into a world of lace and powder that she was not accustomed to, and he knew that if somebody found out about the two of them she would be labeled slut. The aristocrats of Javert's inner circle had shunned her cruelly and, at other times, feigned kindness only to be cruel later, earning an even more deliciously hurt reaction from the scrawny little sparrow posing as a swan. Eponine never left the perfumed demons with complete satisfaction, though.

"It's truly amazing what a fine gown can do." One woman with an upturned nose and fat face had said to her one evening at a dinner party. "Why, you almost look like one of us!"

"Yes," Eponine replied, smiling cheerily, oddly reminiscent of her brother. "Amazing how a few yards of fabric can make a pig look like a lady."

She had laughed happily before giving the woman a cheeky grin, her eye shooting daggers. This strange, mixed expression had left all other attendants in the room feeling vaguely frightened. To them, she seemed to be nothing but a wolf in sheep's clothing; dangerous and possibly deadly. They made it a point to stay away from her and she was perfectly pleased with that, though she only wished that they would say their spiteful things to her face instead of her back.

Not even the servants in Javert's household knew the two were together, though all three of them were slightly suspicious. The Inspector had let the girl into his office with him on multiple occasions, something Emile had never seen him do before. He scarcely let anyone into that dark, secluded lair in which he worked, but she had situated herself in the quiet place without a qualm. Once, Sophie had tried to enter the room while the two of them were inside to clean and found the door locked. Behind the closed door, she thought she heard her Master's muffled voice, though it did not sound like him. She had never heard his sharp baritone without the haughty leer that was always in place of his throat. Though she could not understand what he was saying, the servant woman felt the warmth dripping in his voice. She had reported to her mother and husband that he had almost sounded sweet. Another strange occurrence had happened, as well: Emile had heard the word Arcturus pass from Eponine's lips multiple times. Such informal addressing towards their Master was something strange to the servant's of Javert's household. Sophie and Laura both referred to him as Monsieur and only Emile was granted permission to call him by his Christian name.

Emile, who had known the Inspector for a long time, was shocked into disbelief. He did not believe the fierce, quiet man capable of adoring something. His wife, on the other hand, had become fairly concerned, worried by nature. She could not imagine a relationship between the two of them to be a healthy one. Over the course of some time, Sophie had begun to see Eponine as the daughter she had never had and was left with the impression that she would possibly become hurt. Laura had merely laughed and shaken her head with closed eyes and a grin. The elderly live long enough to learn not to worry over things that cannot be helped.

"If the two want each other, let them have each other." She had told her daughter as she paced about the kitchen fretting and biting her fingernails.

It was apparent to Javert that he truly wanted her, as well. His actions to her were at first virtually innocent. He was like a boy exploring his first relationship, timid, shy, and unsure of himself, but still pretending as if he was an expert in the areas of romance, though she easily saw through his facade. Although his manner of pride and constant implication that he had shared himself with dozens of other woman was great since years on the force had molded him into a superb actor, she could simply not imagine it to be true. At first, he only kissed her briefly, a few seconds of flesh meeting flesh, but this contentment quickly diminished. His lips soon prolonged their hold over hers and became deeper and more moist, withdrawing from her sweet taste only reluctantly. That soon evolved, too, as hastily as his desire grew with his confidence. She had responded positively one afternoon when he had held her close to him, imagining it was Marius' thin form against hers instead of Javert's broad one, and he soon had the gall to brush his fingertips over her breasts and hips. Every time he felt the warmth of her waist or chest, however, he felt the impending urge to rip away the fabric barricades that separated him from her inviting flesh, driven by that indescribable want carved deep into the being of each man.

After he finished their unities, either by having to venture out of the secret sanctuary of his office for meals or some other business, or by having to go to work, Javert would always scold himself. He could not fathom himself as handsome, nor could he imagine Eponine thinking of him as handsome. Without the knowledge that Eponine secretly saw him as Marius, he could not find a reason for her to allow him to touch her so intimately. No doubt he made her uncomfortable with his exploration of her body, and he vowed to himself constantly that he would make no attempts to further their relationship. Each time she found him in her presence, however, he banished any vows he had completely. He wanted her. That was all he knew. In fact, he ached for the release brought from a woman's touch, and he saw no lady better than Eponine to give him that blissful feeling.

"Mmm." Eponine hummed as Javert wrapped his arms around her, relishing in the sensation he experienced .

"Eponine, Eponine, Epo_nine._" He moaned softly into her ear, his eyes standing out in cruelly sharp contrast to his happy air.

Tangled in a warm, heavy, messy knot, Javert attempted to move toward the door, but a small foot hooked around his leg, causing him to fall onto his back. He looked up at her furiously as Eponine was sent into rays of soundless laughter, clutching the part of her abdomen where she had been shot. Her long dark hair fell around her face in clean, wavy curtains and his anger vanished immediately. Shakily silently with hysterics, she did not notice the snobbish grin he gave her while her eyes were closed.

"Damn it!" He whispered before pulling her down onto the floor with him with a rough tug to the arm. "You need some punishment, girl. Such insubordenance is not tolerated in my home and I won't be making any exceptions just because you've taken a fancy to me."

Forcing her thin body beneath him, Javert gave her the same haughty grin. With her dark hair splayed about around her head like an earthy halo, variating different shades of brown in the sunlight, he failed to see the alarmed look in Eponine's eyes. Marius would not be as heavy as Javert and she could no longer pretend it was her handsome young man she was playing around with. Her game was ruined and her fantasy lay in shards on the floor around them, shattered like an antique mirror.

She could only predict what he would do with her if allowed, and Eponine suddenly felt her heart begin to race. It is important to note that, though she knew that she would only regret it if she let him have his way with her, it did not stop her from the same sweet sin of want she had experienced only fleetingly near Marius. She wretched for release as much as he did, and she was vaguely afraid for herself, thinking that if she was not careful she might give into her urges. Torn between a duty to her Lord and true love, and the driving force of lust, she moaned softly. The sound came to Javert's ears like the singing of angels and he echoed her moan mockingly, ending the sound with a teasing, upward inflection.

"You belong to me." He snarled in her ear.

Javert's body on top of hers felt almost suffocating and she could not help but remember her previous dream involving him. A glimpse of the girl from the slums arose in her eyes as she realized that a man was laying on top of her, and not just any man. The person she had feared most for nearly a decade was resting his chest against hers, their hips were alined, his face was buried in the crook of her neck, his starkly white teeth brushing coolly across her neck as they escaped from his sneer. He kissed her again and something hot and insistent pressed against her, making Eponine inhale sharply in his mouth.

"Get off." Eponine ordered, ripping her lips away from his and pushing him away from her. "Get off of me. Now!" She added when Javert hesitated.

Quickly, he stood and pulled her up. Eponine wished that she was still covered in dirt so that he would not see the faint blush tracing itself over her cheeks. Looking at her with mild concern and gripping her hands in his, he attempted over and over again to look into her eyes, but she kept avoiding his sight.

"I'm sorry, I only thought-"

"You are a dog who doesn't know when to stop playing." She whispered, still refusing to look into his eyes. He opened his mouth to answer her but she cut him off, yanking her hands out of his grasp and taking a step backwards. "You may kiss me and I may kiss you back, but I am neither your wife nor your hussy. Keep yourself to yourself." She hissed.

Like the happiness that filled the atmosphere when he was in a joyous mood, Eponine felt something else spread through the air, like black ink seeping into a glass of water, stretching its tendrils smokily through the once perfect water until the entire substance was infected with gray. The infection spread through the room quickly, diseasing the air with a foul feeling, and she felt a pit begin to form in her stomach. His face was devoid of anything, but there was the unmistakable, gloomy presence of guilt around them.

"You're a master of suppressing emotion, Arcturus, but you can't hide anything from me." Eponine patted him on the head fondly, ruffling her hand through his short, neatly cut hair, before sweeping past him, her skirts making soft rustling noises. "You needn't feel guilty. I know, I understand, I just got scared, that's all. You're just a poor dog in heat." Leaning against the back of the oaken door of his office, she crossed her legs at the ankle and smirked at him. "But if you want to do that you'll have to marry me first." She paused thoughtfully, a quizzical expression conquering her face as she crossed her arms over her chest. "And I sincerely doubt you would want to do that."

An image of a little gamin in a filthy cap strutted itself across his memory and Javert found a likeness to the little dead street urchin and his sister. Eponine had picked up a few of Gavroche's tricks and a bit of his personality. Or maybe it was the other way around. They physically resembled each other, too. He remembered seeing the little boy at the barricades the night he had died and he remembered seeing Eponine there as well, though he had only recently realized the scrawny boy in the filthy brown cap and frock coat was his ward.

Calmly, she opened the door and stepped into the hallway. Without closing the door, she said smartly, "I've changed my mind. You're not a dog, you're a wolf."

Eponine nodded once in affirmation and shut the door, leaving Javert still standing in the middle of the room, slightly aghast. One word kept repeating itself in his mind. Marry, he thought to himself, _marry. _Even as he left for work and patrolled the moist spring streets he could not dispel that one thought from his mind. He arrested one criminal, and the ugly thief remarked to himself how the man seemed less cruel and more aloof, lost in dizzying pictures of his ward in a white dress and a veil.

_Marry_, Javert thought to himself quietly in his office at the prefecture, absentmindedly scribbling away at the paperwork he needed to file. _Do I want to marry her?_ He imagined spending his life with her as her husband, waking up beside the same face each morning, making love to the same woman each night. Everything seemed to happen so suddenly, but he could not suppress a feeling of deep excitement. In his boyish anticipation, he refused to acknowledge the fact that it would possibly be unhealthy for his image to marry his ward, and he did not dwell on the thought that she would refuse his proposal. His first love had come late, but it was not any less clouded; he thought to himself that he and the girl who had pulled him back from the parapet were simply meant to be. His quest for a wife had not been forgotten; he had simply been too preoccupied with his infatuation with Eponine to spend his time looking for a suitable woman. _I can't stand the females of my class,_ Javert said to himself, _but Eponine is something different. She appears to be an aristocrat but acts like a peasant and has the wit of a well learned man. She is wrong in her doubts, _he decided.

"She is the very object of my affections. I adore her, I think I may even love her. I needed a wife to be a respectable man, after all. Why shouldn't I marry her?" He murmured, staring down into the well polished surface of his desk unblinkingly.

In the inobservancy produced from love, Javert did not notice the door of his office was cracked. He did not notice the handsome apparition of fair hair, blue eyes, and the deep blue uniform of a fellow police officer standing behind it and listening to him intently either. Officer Liviet was no longer subordinate to Inspector Javert but they still worked together often and the young man stood at his partially opened door, a thin stack of files clutched in one hand. Lestan de Liviet rested his pale forehead on the middle of his superior officer's door and felt a swarm of panic rising up in his throat remembering the scene he had witnessed in his beloved's window. Since he had become aware of Javert's relationship with the girl who had saved his life, his infatuation for her had grow ten fold and he spent almost every waking and dreaming moment thinking of her. Like Eponine herself, he had begun to construct a fantasy world, built of hopes and daydreams, and it all revolved around her. Every moment was filled with her voice, her smile, her long dark hair, the smattering of freckles across her nos, the sweet curve of her thin waist and small breasts. He had never been in love before, and the wonderful, terrible sensation made him want to sing and dance and die all at the same time. A terrible sinking feeling swallowed him up and he instantly made a vow that he would have to inform Eponine of his feelings towards her as soon as possible.

"I love her." He sang to himself in a nearly mute whisper. "Why shouldn't _I_ marry her?"

Carefully, Javert produced a blank sheet of paper and an envelope. With his perfect script, he wrote the address of his adoptive parents' home over the envelope. He would call for them to meet his soon-to-be wife as soon as possible.

In the outside hallway, the pretty young man walked down the corridor with a confident stride, silently declaring war on Inspector Javert.


	16. Chapter 16

**This. . . is a very long chapter, and it's also terribly OOC. I must say, I was waiting since the I started publishing this for someone to point out that there were way too many coincidences to be realistic. It finally happened! Yay! XD Congratulations aghamora! It makes me laugh when people point out the obvious flaws in my writing. Has anyone noticed that I sometimes make up words? There are a few in this chapter, see if you can find them.**

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"Mother, Father, this is my ward, Eponine. Eponine, these are my adoptive parents, Armand and Calpurnia Javert."

The gruff old man stooped down from his dizzying height to kiss her on the hand as protocol called and the middle aged woman with brown hair streaked with gray smiled warmly. This smile seemed so kindly to Eponine that she immediately felt a rush of sweet relief. When Javert had told her that his parents would be visiting from Toulon she had begun to fret. She was like a young man about to meet his lady's father, terrified at the prospect of being disliked by her lover's parents. To top off her anxiety, she did not even know why she was so nervous, when she was still completely in love with Marius and had little to no feelings for the man who had become enraptured with her. But the gentle politeness of Calpurnia Javert made Eponine instantly feel at ease. This woman was obviously not cold like so many of the other aristocratic woman she had met, though she could not say the same for her husband. The cold, aging man seemed even more ferocious than his son, glaring at her through eyes narrowed with superiority.

"Arcturus, why didn't you tell us you had a daughter sooner?" Calpurnia asked, still smiling. The red jewels in her ears sparkled and Eponine found herself slightly fascinated by them. She had never had the money to bother with jewelry before, and she didn't much care for any of it now, but sh could not rip her eyes away from the ruby studs. The only thing she had ever seen that was as red as those earrings was blood.

Javert was caught off guard for several moments by the word daughter. Hearing someone refer to his new lover as his child felt exceedingly disturbing and he was rendered speechless. Struggling for a suitable answer, he gave an internal sigh of relief when Eponine answered for him.

"I could hardly call him Father," She said seriously, wrapping one hand around his arm and looking up at him. Though she stared at him with vague fondness, her like of him was only a product of gratitude. Javert mistook this fondness as genuine affection and felt something deep within him give a happy flutter. "He's much too cold to be paternal."

"He gets that from me." Armand grunted, his voice rough and deep. "Runs in the family."

Silently, the retired officer slipped out of the reception room and stepped into the hallway to wander his son's house by himself. All three heard the sharp tapping of cane against floor as the old man gave glance after glance to his painfully dull surroundings.

"Don't you pay any attention to him." Calpurnia said to Eponine softly, her voice lilting with mirth. "They may both seem frigid on the outside but they're both secretly romantic at heart. However rough and ferocious my son may seem, he's still the same little boy who used to prance around the house with his dogs and pick me flowers."

With an evil grin, Eponine turned her head to look at Javert, intent on irking him. She had discovered a sort of game in the past few weeks, a thrilling rush of excitement to help her cope with the constant guilt she felt. She had found several ways to annoy him and, much to her delight, he seemed unable to do anything about it other than glare at her. With wide eyes, she stared at him mischievously, much like a cat discovering the canary's cage was left unlocked. She would love the satisfaction of knowing that she had managed to raise a draw of anger in the usually stoic man.

"Picking flowers for his mother? Now I can't imagine that. But maybe he _is_ secretly romantic. You haven't gotten a lady friend tucked away somewhere, do you, Father?"

Clenching his teeth so that the muscles along his jawline stood out, Javert silently walked away after shaking her off of him, following his father down the hallway. Furiously huffing, he closed the door of his office behind him and sighed twice before moving. However much he adored Eponine, her mischievous tricks were tedious and frustrating. He would not give in and lose to her, though. Yelling or scolding would only give her what she wanted.

"How rude it is that they left us all alone. Shall we follow them?"

"After you." Eponine said, mirroring the older woman's smile.

As the mother began telling her more incriminating stories about her son, Eponine decided that she liked Javert's mother.

Sometime later, Eponine decided to retire early for the night. Though she had forged a friendship with Calpurnia Javert, she had spent the rest of the evening in tedious conversation, being asked question after question, few of which she was comfortable with. Where did she come from? Where were her parents? Why does she live with their son when she is of age and can find the means to take care of herself? Over and over again she gave simple answers to row after row of polite interrogations, always stepping around the question so as not to give a definite answer. Her past was filled with darkness, darkness that would no doubt make the people who surrounded her cringe with fear and shun her scornfully. She left both Javert's mother and father in a state of sublime curiosity, each of them overly puzzled by the uncomfortableness that overcame her when speaking about her former life.

Javert watched silently as his ward slipped through the door of his parlor and disappeared out of sight.

"What do you think of her?" He asked his parents, arms tucked behind his back gravely. He was even more nervous than Eponine when meeting his parents. The coloring in his face disappeared as he imagined his parent's reaction to his proclamation that he was going to marry his ward. His mother would be perfectly supportive, he predicted. She would be happy to see him finally begin a normal life. It was his father he was worried about. He had spent nearly his entire life trying to prove himself to the unapeasable, but he always fell short of the man's high expectations. It would be likely that he would receive another one of the disappointed looks he had grown up with, and Javert was not looking forward to it.

"She's strange, but good." Calpurnia said, sitting in the fireside armchair Eponine usually claimed on cooler nights. "But who in the world is she, Arcturus? She's been under your care for over half a year and you don't tell us until three weeks ago? You are behaving very strangely."

"It's a very good thing you approve of her. I'm going to marry her." Javert said gravely, watching the doorway she had exited through as if it had been a coffin that left the room and not a young girl. Turning, he saw the strange looks on his parents' faces and tried his best to explain. "I'm just as confused as you," He told them, gesticulating erratically. "Probably even more. My whole world has been tipped upside down. I feel like a man who is caught in an avalanche and can no longer tell whether he is laying on his back or stomach in the snow. She's done something to me, Mother. I adore her."

"But who is she?" Armand barked, his steely eyebrows bent in a deep scowl.

Turning his head to his father seriously, Javert frowned, his whole form suggesting graveness.

"That is the funny part. How ironic is it that I've become enraptured by the daughter of a damned cut throat, bred and born in the gutter. She did an immaculate favor for me and I was left in debt. She needed a place to call home, I gave her one. But she's grown on me. Her life has been so miserable, but she is still so strong, if you could just see it. It's indescribable! She saved my life, took a bullet for my subordinate, refuses to complain about a thing. If she were a man she'd make an admirable police officer. She is. . . respectable!" Javert exclaimed, still waving his hands about madly.

"A cut throat! And from the gutter! What on earth are you thinking, Arcturus? For all you know she could be a criminal herself!" Calpurnia said, concern whirling in her eyes. The fierce protectiveness of a mother flooded her and she began to find fault after fault in the girl she had previously been fond of. In her mind, the young, polite, humorous lady became an evil siren, wrapping her filthy hands around her son's throat to drag him to his death.

With a foul look, Javert silenced her, his fear invoking expression instantly making a glacial chill run down the aging woman's back. His face contorting with fury, he bared his teeth to defend the woman he adored, "Eponine is not a criminal. Her father, mother, sister, brother, they are all criminals, but not her. Not anymore at least."

He would have continued with his ranting praise of her, but was interrupted by a strange sound, one he had never heard before in all his thirty five years. From where his father sat, Javert heard a strange, almost happy noise; rough and cold, but still slightly joyous. With one large, pale hand clutching his face to hide the slight smile that trickled over his sneer, his father let several hoarse chuckles escape him. Even the old man's wife stared at him perplexedly, her brow bent in puzzlement.

"Look at you!" Armand said, his ugly, scarred face twisting with amusement. "What a mess you are. Let him marry, Cal. If we didn't approve of her he would marry the girl anyways just to spite us."

Crossing her arms over her chest and looking at him with deep sorrow, Calpurnia's eyes began to tear over. "But what if she hurts him? What if she's just some little deviant gaining his favor only to get close enough to kill him? What if-?"

"What if, what if!" Javert shouted, his hands splaying in obvious irritation and his timbrious voice making the china set on the coffee table rattle. "What if I am secretly a homosexual prostitute! What then, Mother!"

"Don't you raise your voice to me! You may be an adult but you are still my son!" Calpurnia shouted at him with equal force, standing up and placing an intimidating look on her face. Her efforts to subdue him were great, but not a thing could sway his aggravated demeanor. Someone had insulted Javert's adoration and he would not stand for it, even if it meant hurting his mother in the process of guarding Eponine from insult.

"But I am not your son!" He bellowed, clenching his fists tight and puffing, his face burning with rage.

His words stung like a knife and she faltered for a minute before collapsing back into the armchair by the fire. Immediately regretting his harrowing insult, Javert stepped to her side and began to comfort her, whispering soft promises of love and devotion into her ear while petting her hair and hand gently. As she buried her hysterical face in his chest, he grimaced at his father and Armand grimaced back. How the unfeeling man found it in him to deal with his emotional wife Javert would never know. Even now as the woman who raised him sobbed and fretted, he wished she would shut up and quit her noise. He was only glad that he had found a soul spirited enough for him to deal with comfortably.

"No, no I didn't mean it, you know that," He told her, letting the air in his lungs escape him to make a stray strand of red hair dance on his forehead. His misty green eyes rolled disrespectfully in their sockets and found a spot on the ceiling to stare at while she buried her face into his chest, waiting disdainfully for the sweet moment when she would release him and he could become his own person again. He did not like to be touched, little lone embraced, and his mother was no exception. The only creature he wanted to touch him was Eponine. "Come now, stop your crying. I was only upset. I care for her so, that is all."

"You love her?" She asked slowly while his thick fingers wiped away the pearly tears on her cheeks with his best attempt at being gentle, which was not a very good one. His awkwardly large hands smeared the transparent moisture of her tears beneath her eyes, clumsily big against her head.

"Love hardly matters, I think. She would make a good wife, that's all I care about." His mother glared at him and he sighed, giving a glance to his father. If it had only been him and his mother in the room he would have readily confessed the nebula of affections he held towards Eponine, but he was positive his father would only view his love as one more weak trait in his son. While he was struggling for something to say for the second time that evening, his mother gave another anguished sob and he groaned inwardly. "More than anything." He said quietly, answering her first question through gritted teeth, frustrated by his mother's flamboyant emotion.

"And her? What about her?"

"Does it matter?" He snapped, standing up from where he knelt at her side to pace by the closed window.

Looking outside, an array of gloomy sites met his eyes. A young couple walked down the street, happily strolling arm in arm. A lovely bonnet scarcely covered the woman's golden blond hair and, even from a distance, Javert could see the complete and utter devotion the handsome boy with the curly dark hair offered her. He was reminded greatly of a pair of doves and the deep disturbance of loneliness that had struck him while he first began to love Eponine returned. Admitting he was lonely to himself was strange, but he could not ignore the thought any longer. Placing one hand on the glass of the tall French window, the pair in the street paused and the curly haired man raised a happy hand up at him. People in love gratefully offer to share their happiness with anyone, even complete strangers. Marius waved at the man he saw in the window joyously, not caring who he was or that he was one of the men behind the murder of his closest friends. Though he did not recognize the boy that had completely won over his dearest possession, he could not help but make a connection between Eponine and her young student. If her Marius showed up at his doorstep declaring his love for her, she would surely not hesitate in abandoning him for the handsome young baron.

The couple continued their walk down the street and Javert sighed again before turning to face his parents.

"Eponine love me? I don't think so. There was some other boy she loved and I have no doubt she still loves him now. But I think she's taken a liking to me."

"And if you proposed?" Armand asked quietly, his eyes disappearing beneath his thick, gray eyebrows as he stared at his surrogate son intensely.

"I honestly don't know. You must understand, she is one of those people. I couldn't begin to imagine what goes on in that mind of hers. She is a whirl of wit and sensitivity, but I worship her all the same. Hell, she's smarter than most of the people I've seen in my life, even if she is a woman. It's like we are equals. That's why I'm so enraptured by her, I think. I can't help but respect her. She grew up surrounded by filth and crime, but she is still strong, beautiful, smart, kind. Her sass is hard to deal with, but I could bear through it. She is simply admirable, don't you see? Do I even deserve her?"

"You're impossible." Armand said with a snort. "You're worse than me with this one." He declared, jabbing one thick thumb at his wife.

"If she is so admirable than you definitely deserve her."

"Thank you, Mother." Javert said quietly.

"When were you planning on asking her?" Armand said, taking out his wooden pipe and stuffing it with cherry scented tobacco. Javert shrugged and the old man stood before lighting his pipe. The hazy smell that filled the air reminded the younger man greatly of the many nights of his youth spent sitting in on his father's conversation, silently being introduced into the world of law as the adult officers around him smoked and drank while over viewing many a case of crime. The scent seemed to fill him with the same vigor for the obedience of rules that had been his young self's only ambition, but now he had a new ambition, involving marriage to the woman he held dearest to him. "It's getting late, Calpurnia. You should be off to bed. We'll have an early start tomorrow."

Some beings are so close to each other, and have been together for so long, that they do not always need direct verbal communication. Looking into her husband's eyes, Calpurnia received a message that remained hidden from her son. In his dark, beetle black eyes, Armand told his wife that he needed to talk with his son alone. She could only consent, and left for the guest room at once, dabbing her still moist face with her handkerchief.

"Show me your house, won't you?"

"Now? It is so late." The words had scarcely left Javert's mouth by the time his father had already left the room and was tapping his cane against the hard wood floors, humming between inhaling puffs of tobacco.

"When were you planning on asking her?" Armand asked him, tapping his way up the stairs. A shrug was Javert's answer, though he did not plan on proposing for some time. If he asked her now, she surely wouldn't accept. It had only been a few weeks since the news of her boy's marriage had left her devastated and lonely enough to accept his companionship. If he asked her now, she would probably be alarmed at his sudden advances and immediately reject him. The thought sent a cold wave of despair into him.

Stopping in front of his son's bedroom door, he knocked the tip of his walking stick against the closed door and looked at the wooden surface roughly. "This is your room?"

Javert nodded and watched as his father surveyed the opposite door. "Then this must be hers. Clever layout, I must say. You haven't been up to anything sinful, have you?"

"Of course not!" He exclaimed in a faint whisper, afraid his ward might overhear their conversation. In truth, he was half lying, and he squirmed about it within himself. Lying to his parents and superiors had always had painful experiences growing up, and the threat of a childhood beating still hung itself over his head ominously, but he simply could not confess to the lustful feelings he knew both himself and Eponine to be experiencing and coping with poorly. The first time he had become too sexually excited with her was not the last, and the past few times she had felt him grow hard against her, her denial took more and more time to produce.

"Why don't you ask her now?" Armand said, slyly.

"What, you can't be serio-!"

In a flash, the door was opened and Javert found himself thrust into Eponine's room. After trying desperately to open the door, he found it being held fast by his father on the other side, and turned around sheepishly to find her sitting at her window, clothed in a simple night gown and robe. She had been watching the night skies only moments before and thinking of Marius, but the moment she had heard the door open she snapped out of her daydream.

"You are ignoring all propriety." Javert shouted through the door, trying again to open it but failing.

"Oh, my son." Armand shouted back sardonically, his voice dripping with fake disappointment. "And you were the last one I expected to break the rules."

"May I suggest, sir, that you open the door?" Eponine said, silently appearing at the sight of the closed door and standing at Javert's side.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, young lady. My son has something to ask you and I'm not letting him out until you give an answer for him."

"Your father is a strange man." She commented.

"Things are not always as they appear,"

In the dark, she narrowed her eyes, trying to make out his face in the dark. She gave up when she couldn't.

"You have something to ask me?" She said after a moments silence.

"I. . . ." Running a hand through his hair, his eyes wandered down to her state of dress, his sharp jade eyes peering disdainfully at the thin robe encasing her soft, barely clothed body. Through the sheer, white fabric, he could easily see the outline of her breasts and hips and he felt an alarmingly hot warmth spread through him. "I was wondering what you were looking at through the window." He said quickly, realizing defeat at his father's hand and stepping past her to stand before the open window. Calmly, she followed him and curled up again in her seat by the window, hugging her knees to her chest and looking at the sky.

"The stars." Eponine answered simply, silently wondering what it was he had really meant to ask her.

"Ah, yes the stars are definitely worth looking at." He said quietly, thankful to latch onto a subject in this awkward situation. "There is nothing I can look at long except for the stars."

"Why is that?" She asked, her voice barely above a minute whisper. Slowly, her hand found its way to his arm, a silent invitation for him to sit beside her, and he followed her command. Sleepily, she rested her head against his forearm and he leaned into her presence. The moonlight fell over her pale face and dark hair, seeming to make her face illuminate with coruscation and make her hair silvery. Her eyes shined and flickered in the dark, like a wolf's eyes absorbing and reflecting the light that poured over it. If he did not know who she was, he might have thought she was the goddess Artemis, resting from her hunt to watch her starry kingdom. If she was the goddess of the moon though, he would be dead where he sat. He knew well enough that Apollo's twin did not favor men.

"I've always found meaning in the stars, you see. They appear every night in the same routine, making the same shapes and constellations in the sky. They create order and light. Something truly remarkable, really." He nodded approvingly at the shimmering figures in the sky, proud to have modeled himself after them, and she sighed wearily, thinking of how different their views were.

"I've always liked them, too." She told him quietly. "To me, they never seem lonely. They look warm and happy. When I was little, before my parents lost the inn, my mother used to tell me stories about how when people die they become stars. I remember, a few winters ago, I used to think about drowning myself in the river because then I would become a star and I wouldn't be so lonely. But I never did it. I was too weak, I suppose. Weak and scared and stupid."

"You didn't drown yourself because you're weak." He hissed, aggressively. "You didn't drown yourself because you're strong. You have something that I lack. If you hadn't been there to pull me back from that bridge I would have definitely carried through with killing myself."

"I would have done it after a while if I hadn't met Marius."

"Do you still love that boy?" He asked her softly, curling one large hand in her hair and running the silvery strands over his fingertips.

"Of course. I think I'll always love him. Even now that I have no hope, even now that my dreams are all dead, I can't forget about him."

"Even now?" Javert murmured dangerously, his hand tightening its grip on her hair so that he tugged at her dark strands uncomfortably. His other hand found her shoulder in the dark and grasped it tight, clinging his cold flesh to her warm body. "Even now that you are with me? I could give you everything, you know. You need only ask and I will give you the world! You needn't be lonely anymore!"

"The one thing that I want is the one thing you cannot give me, I'm afraid." Eponine said wearily.

"How is it that you make me miserable and elated at the same time?" Javert huffed, letting his head rest on her shoulder.

Eponine sighed as a new feeling flooded through her. She sensed anger, though she did not know what it was she was angry about. Feeling some sort of ugly emotion make a lump in her throat, she felt the urge to scream and sob both at the same time. With a start, she realized what was bothering her so. Eponine hated herself. She hated that she was ugly, she hated that she was in love with Marius, she hated that she was too weak to kill herself, she hated that she made the one man who cared about her miserable because she was too stupid to give up on Marius and too afraid to love Javert.

"I guess we'll just have to be miserable together, then."

"Two negatives make a positive, you know." He told her.

"I've never understood mathematics." Eponine said frumpily, shaking her head slightly.

They were both silent for a long while, content without noise, until she spoke aloud, her rough voice barely above a murmur, "Take my hand, Arcturus. Try to see what I see. Look." Doing as she commanded, he took one of her hands and looked towards the sky where she was pointing. "There, in the darkness, it seems black but really it is just dark blue. And through the blueness the lights of the stars dance, shining, burning, bursting through. . . through the stars! If you look at it in the right way, the world is a very beautiful place."

Though she commanded him to, Javert did not look at the sky. Instead, he glanced sideways at her, watching as her eyes glittered with something he knew he did not possess.

"I have seen many things, but I don't think I have ever seen the world the way you do, Eponine Thenardier."

The moment she heard the word 'Thenardier', it felt as if she had been slapped across the face. In the past year she had almost forgotten the horrible word. Now it seemed like a huge insult, an utterance that was associated with crime and murder and theft, a word that seemed a nasty, rotten green. Before she had time to react to the unintentional insult, however, Javert leaned over and kissed her, placing his lips over hers suddenly, and, like always, slightly rough, as if demanding she kiss him back. He kissed her again and Eponine wrapped her arms around his neck and slid over her seat so that she was more or less in his lap. His lips moved to her neck and she inhaled the clean smell of his hair, only thankful that she had someone to touch her without repulsion. In the dark, he did not see her grimace and frown.

The next morning, Sophie stepped upstairs to wake the lady of her household only to find her master's father sitting on the carpet outside her door. Grumpily, he looked up at her, authoritativeness etched into everyone of his wrinkled features.

"Lovers!" He said to her hoarsely, knocking one hand against the door. "I've been waiting all night for them to give me an answer."

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, Sophie narrowed her eyes warily and stepped over the old man to open the door. With a start, she saw the Inspector asleep in a chair beside his ward's bed, Eponine herself splayed about beneath the fine covers. After some time in the night, he had insisted she go to bed and he had sat watching her sleep until his own eyes had begun to grow heavy. Armand looked past the maid's legs and, seeing his son and future fiance asleep in their manner, cursed beneath his breath, saying to Sophie, "She better have said yes."


	17. Chapter 17

**This is a lazily written chapter. Sorry you guys, I'm in the hospital again so updates might become fewer and farther apart. I'm hoping to get this finished up by Christmas though so I'll try my hardest to write to my own satisfaction! Thank you as always, readers! You make my sun shine!**

The rain fell in heavy blots, much like on the day Eponine had been shot, and she watched what glimpse of the world she could see from her window flood and soak, the street she and Javert lived on becoming brown and muddy. Despite the thick, gray clouds that blotted the sky, here and there a spark of sunlight could be seen through the melancholy atmosphere, a reminder to the people watching the skies that light could be found even in the darkest of places. Wet drops slid down the window pane in front of her almost like tears, and, with Javert gone and at work, she was suddenly reminded of Marius, a cold whisper of a familiar loneliness making her want to gag and sob at the same time.

With a start, Eponine realized she had not thought of the handsome young baron in some time. She had simply been too preoccupied with Javert following her every moment with a powerfully protective and possessive gaze, affection turning every man who glanced at her into an enemy. Noticing his strong and attentive feelings towards her, she could not help feeling slightly touched, but this did not stop her from hating herself any less. If she hadn't felt obligated to stay with Javert for all he had given her, she would have killed herself right then and there, the nature of her self loathing being so strong as to banish any self preservation within her. A suicidal thought had hit her late one night, several days after her meeting with the Inspector's adoptive parents, and she had pondered on whether or not to fulfill her visions of ending her own life. After a long, nearly sleepless night, she had decided against it. Holding, kissing, and pretending that she adored him as much as he adored her was all of the payment Eponine thought he deserved for taking her in. Killing herself would end the compromise she had invented for them, and she couldn't bear the thought of making him miserable after all he had done for her.

But that was not what was troubling her now. In the past few days she had been living in a cottony haze, almost reminiscent of when she had been living in the world of opiates and narcotics after she had been shot. She had almost completely forgotten all her misery and, with her despair, Marius, too. She felt immensely guilty having forgotten the boy she loved so dearly, making her hate herself even further, though she highly doubted he even thought of her. Although, if granted a potion that would make her forget the fresh eyed young baron for forever, she would have taken it within seconds. Marius was the source of all her joy and all her pain. She did not even know how Javert had managed to erase him from her mind in the first place, but somehow he had, and she could even consider herself slightly happy for a few days with the police inspector in her presence.

Had she even begun to slightly feel some sort of affection for Javert? Eponine told herself that she hadn't, but knew somewhere within herself she was lying. She had noticed his handsomeness before, and she had found herself strangely attracted to him before, as well, but now she really saw it. She likened his pale skin to a painting she had seen as a child of some king or another, and his red hair seemed strikingly unique. His eyes were almost a perfect match to the little green sculptures of dragons and monkies that came from China and India and the other Asian countries, and he was probably one of the tallest men she had ever seen, even taller than Brujon and the other crooks of the Patron-Minette. Along with that, his work kept him well in shape and he had the body of a Roman warrior, every muscle within him accustomed to arduous strain and exercise. He was kind to her, too, which was something she would have never expected of anyone before they had met. It was as if he reserved every ounce of joy and patience within him only to see her smile.

Wrapping her arms around herself and hugging her knees to her chest, Eponine dared to smile.

A shape in the street suddenly caught her eye and she looked down to see Officer Liviet on his usual daily patrol. Like always, he paused in his stroll and looked up at her, waving one hand in greeting, and she waved back. On the few occasions she had spoken with the handsome young man, he was always exceptionally kind to her, always smiling warmly and complimenting her on her nonexistent good looks, and for that she was thankful. Apparently, he had plans to divert from his usual agenda, as he hesitated in his steps and turned around. Eponine watched as he stepped up to Javert's house and disappeared from her sight, no doubt at the front door. A moment later she heard the knock at the end of the hall and, within minutes, Emile escorted the handsome young officer into the drawing room.

"What are you doing here, Officer?" She asked him. "Javert is still at work."

"Monsieur requested an audience with you, Ma'amselle." Emile said quietly, and Eponine looked at the fair haired man curiously.

He looked back at her and she was surprised to see the anxiety that was so apparent on his lovely face. His hands were clenched tight at his side and he stood awkwardly straight, chin held high as if trying to put on a brave face. Seeing this strange facade he ad put on, Eponine felt her stomach sink and the blood in her face drain.

"Has something happened?" She asked quickly, standing up with hast and giving him a concerned look that cut the love stricken man to the bone. "Has something happened to Javert?"

"Uh, no. No." He told her, giving her a small smile. He knew exactly where the Inspector was this evening. He had delivered the news himself to Javert that the long wanted criminal Jean Valjean had died that evening, and the fierce man had left his office immediately, telling him that he had business to attend to. He was probably at the criminal house right now attending to paper work and other duties required by him, exactly why Liviet had chosen now to drop in on Eponine. Get the girl without the wolf, he had told himself, and you'll surely win her over. He would show himself off t her so that she could not possibly deny him. "I merely felt the need to tell you something."

He stood awkwardly with Emile at his side and, after a prolonged moment of silence, she cleared her throat, saying to the head servant, "I think we'll do alright by ourselves, Emile." It always felt strange giving a man who was technically of a higher rank than her an order, but Emile nodded his head of graying hair politely at her and left.

Eponine collapsed into her chair by the lit fire, resting her chin against her hand and sitting with poor posture. "You had me worried for nothing, Monsieur. What a cruel thing to do."

"I promise you I intended no ill, Madamoiselle." He said, still standing awkwardly.

"Oh, please, sit!" She said, shaking her head slightly at her blunder. If Javert were there he would scorn her for her lack of etiquette and hospitality, but she was not used to visitors.

Officer Liviet smiled at her nervously and sat in the chair opposite her. He was thinner and shorter than the Inspector, and he looked practically miniscule in comparison. With a twisted grimace, Eponine decided she did not like seeing someone else in Javert's place.

"What is it you needed to tell me, Monsieur? I can't imagine anything you need to say to _me._"

"Please, call me Lestan." He said softly, still retaining his anxious smile. "And my message is, is that, I- I love you."

Perplexed, Eponine stared at him, thinking that she had perhaps misheard him when he had uttered the infallibly shocking phrase '_I love you_'. Seeing her utter confusion, he leaned forward quickly and tried to kiss her, but one small hand pushed him back gently.

"Lestan, Javert and I. . . ." She trailed off, hoping that he would get the implication so she would not have to say it aloud. Explaining to him out loud that she and Javert were in a relationship would be like finalizing an important document, a contract she could not rip apart whenever she wanted.

"I understand." He said, quietly, his gorgeous blue eyes turning sad and cold. Her rejection put a final seal on his misery, and, as if draped in a dark cloak, a shadow seemed to seep over him, dismay and despair strangely defining his handsome and youthful features. Guilt once again plowed through her as she observed his anguish, and Eponine laced her hand through his. Grimly, Liviet watched as she murmured apology and explanation, but he heard none of it. He had prepared himself for denial before coming here, but it seemed all his careful preparation was in vain. Nothing could cushion the blow he felt at this particular instance. Not only his heart was wounded, but his pride as well. He had thought that she would have much preferred his young, intelligent, handsome, and successful self over the aging Inspector, but he had been painstakingly wrong. He wanted to be sick, sob, and shout with anger, but he just sat there silently, allowing her to run her fingers over his pale hand comfortingly.

"Does he make you happy?" Liviet asked, his deep blue eyes stormy and distant. She shook her head, and he looked at her desperately, the new hope flaring in her eyes making her cringe. "I could make you happy." He told her. "I could give you the world! I'm young, I don't have a lot of money, but for you I would do anything! I love you. I think I've loved you since the moment Javert made me apologize to you and you gave me that proud grin. And when you saved my life I couldn't stop thinking about you. I adore you with every cell in my body. I could certainly make you happy!"

"There's only one thing in the world that could make me happy, and I haven't seen him in nearly a year. And even if I did see him he would have no interest in me." She told him, smiling sadly and brushing one stray strand of hair across his forehead.

"Any man who does not have interest in you is a fool."

"Any man who has interest in me is a fool."

With anguish, he knelt to the ground at her feet and, clasping his hands, he pleaded to her. "Marry me! Please! Make me your husband and let me make you my wife! We could be miserable apart, but we could be happy together!"

"I'm sorry." Was all she said, and her rough and damaged voice made a devastating chill run down his spine. Soon afterwards, he took his leave.

Stepping into the rain, the young man spoke aloud to himself, "I'm fine," Lestan promised himself, clenching one fist and raising his face to the still raining sky. "I'm fine. She's just a girl, just some dumb woman. Why should I bother with her? Yes, I'm completely fine." Swallowing the lump in his throat, he let one small sob escape him. Pausing in the street, a wave of hot, salty rain drops slid from his face to the mucky street and he pressed his forehead against a solitary building. Officer Liviet believed that, after the rigorous physical and emotional training he had undergone during his time at _The Academy of Enforcement, _he would no longer be capable of such weak displays, but he could not help himself. He was a man drowning in his first love, and he was thankful that the rain was there to mask his tears.

Eponine could easily empathize with the young boy, and for that she pitied him. Even after he had collected himself enough to leave, she sat in silence, frantically searching for a reason as to why the young officer thought he loved her. Since she loathed herself deeply, she found she could not come up with an answer. She saw no desirable traits in herself, deeming her looks homely at best, and her attitude seemed weak and selfish, unable to live on her own without getting shot and unable to stop dreaming about Marius even when Javert so readily offered himself to her. And now, being preoccupied already with Javert, she had hurt some other man whom she barely knew.

Standing, she was struck with a sudden spell of dizziness, and Eponine raised a hand to her head wearily. She needed a drink.

* * *

Javert stepped down the street with his eyes pinched under a scowl and his head slightly bowed. If any other man had assumed this position while walking they would easily have been considered in a weak, robbable state, but any observer would have been twice as wary of Inspector Javert. He appeared to be contemplating something and, on top of that, he rubbed his temple every now and then as if trying to soother a persistent head ache. Any wise man would not have dared bothering him now for fear of a violent outburst.

The afternoon had crawled by at a slow pace for Inspector Javert, and his legs were sore from kneeling. As soon as he had gotten word that Jean Valjean had died, he had swiftly departed his office at the prefecture, leaving for the Rue de l'Homme-Arme, no. 7. He had gone under the pretense of police business, but the moment he had stepped into the dimly lit house he knew that was wrong. A flock of people was already there, a grim faced mortician, a highly sympathetic undertaker, a pretty little girl with long blonde hair who was sobbing uncontrollably, and a young man who, though he was crying himself, was trying to comfort her. He could only assume that these two young people were Eponine's boy and his wife. He observed the pair disdainfully before entering the room where he was told the body lay, remarking to himself how the boy was not as handsome as she had made him out to be.

The former convict's body was covered in a thin white sheet, and, after staring at the lifeless shape for several minutes, Javert knelt to the floor, unsure of what else to do. He was not a pious man, nor was he raised with much religion in mind, but he folded his hands like his mother had taught him and began a one-way conversation with the dead man. What did he say? What did he feel? We shall never know. We only know that, at the beginning of his long talk, his expression had been stony and angry, and, by the end, it was only tired.

His eyes heavy and his skull beginning to throb, Javert stepped out of the room, his boots making soft clicking noises against the dusty floor. The boy's wife looked up at him, her round face red and tear stained, and she hiccuped once before burying her face in her husband's arm. The young man looked up at him, his face also tear stained, and Javert resisted all urges to sneer in his face and gloat about how he had won over Eponine. He merely gave a curt nod to the boy and left quickly, only stopping at his office to place the paper work he had never filled out on his desk to do tomorrow morning.

The houses that lined the street were dimly lit and their dark forms cast flickering shadows over his own form as he stepped through his gate. Opening his eyes and raising his head, he was surprised to see Eponine sitting on the garden bench in the dark. Though it was well past the time she usually went to bed, she was still dressed in her day clothes. He could not help but notice that she was wearing the neckline of her gown lower than usual, and she gazed at him almost coquettishly.

"What are you doing there?" Javert asked her, and he watched with a tired soul as she stood slowly and walked over to him.

"Waiting for you to come home, of course!" She said, wrapping her arms around his body in the dark. Something cool and smooth pressed into his arm, and he looked down to see her hand wrapped around an almost empty bottle of cooking sherry.

"You're drunk." He commented.

"Indeed I am. I'm sorry, I just needed something to make the pain go away and I'm afraid I'm a bit like the English when it comes to drinking." Eponine said, observing the bottle, her face assuming a sloppy grin. "I do like my sherry."

Observing her relapse of alcoholism, he gave an internal sigh and said, "You need to sleep. Come on." Javert tugged at her arm to lead her inside, but she would not budge from were she stood. In fact, being intoxicated seemed to give her a new strength. Observing him, she lost her grin and looked at him somberly, her narrow eyes watching him closely. Though she had regained her usual calmness, there was still something off about her, like a steady-eyed cat with a twitchy tail.

"I have a favor to ask of you, _my love._" Eponine said, and Javert felt as if somebody had just constricted his heart. She had never called him 'my love' before, and he found himself quite pleased, especially since she was drunk. In his experience, people were a lot less likely to lie when their heads were made cloudy with alcohol.

"Ask away."

"Fuck me." She said bluntly, her voice full of bitter acid, and he gave an aghast look at her.

"Wha-?"

"Hard." Eponine pressed her body into his in a way that she thought would be pleasurable for him, and Javert took a step back, alarm blazing in his eyes.

"What in God's name are you talk-?"

"I want it to hurt." She told him, running one hand through the his red hair, her face still sad and calm. "I want to be in sheer agony."

Absentmindedly, her hands strayed to the cool, leather texture of his belt, and, though his mind was against it, he felt himself becoming aroused. A hot hungriness trickled through him, wrapping sneaky tendrils through his core and whispering in his ear to fulfill her favor. He fought against the hungriness, knowing it to be sinful, and he tried his best to ignore the delicious feeling of her hand straying against his crotch.

"Why?" Javert hissed, grabbing her hands from his waist to prevent her from touching him further.

"I deserve it. Or you deserve it. I don't know." Eponine murmured. Her forehead fell forward into his chest and she slumped against him, the sherry bottle slipping from his fingers to shatter against the pavement. The dark slivers of glass reflected the feeble light from the street posts and, for a moment, it seemed almost as if the shards were actually a small fire, glittering against the ground hotly. Ignoring the strange flickering, he looked into her narrow eyes and she continued. "All of this," She gestured first to her dress and then to him. "All you've done for me. I've decided that I owe you something for it. I don't deserve it, and I owe you, and I. . . ."

"You saved my life, you saved Liviet's life, don't you remember? You owe me nothing."

"No!" She argued, gripping the lapels of his coat and rocking back on her heels. "Don't you remember who I am? I'm a Thenardier! Most people would agee that means I'm worse than filth. Filth shouldn't be clothed in satin and lace and be kissed and cared for like it matters. Who am I to deserve the finest officer in Paris?"

"Eponine!" Javert barked, dangerously, his temper straining even for her.

"Filth deserves complete and utter agony." She told him. "And I owe you something for all I've done to you. Such cruel things. . . ."

"You've done nothing cruel to me. You're speaking nonsense, girl."

"No. No, I've done so much." Eponine said quietly, recalling how she had always imagined it was Marius touching her instead of Javert. "I'm such a terrible person. But that's why I want it to hurt. I deserve all the pain you can offer me." She declared, smiling peevishly. "You want to do it, and I want you to do it, so why don't you just take me upstairs to your bedroom and put my blood on your sheets?"

For a split second, her head fell to her chest and he thought she might have passed out, but she placed her hand over his crotch for the second time, lightly brushing him through the fabric. He stirred beneath her touch and he caught sight of a smirk spreading over her lips before he slapped her hand away for the second time. Roughly, he shook her shoulders until she looked him in the eye.

"Come on." Eponine lilted, her eyes looking everywhere but at him. "I might be a virgin but I know tricks. Things 'Parnasse asked me to do for him. . . ." In the back of his mind, Javert wondered vaguely who 'Parnasse was, an all consuming anger filling him at the idea that some other man had been telling his beloved to do things of a sexual nature for him. "I never did anything for him, you know. But for you I would do anything you want me to. Come on. Fuck me. Don't you want to-?"

"No." Javert said simply.

"I suppose I'm just too ugly for you, then. Too filthy to be fucked!" She sang to the night, rocking back and forth as if dancing.

"No." He repeated. "I want you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life. You leave me aching, but I will not _fuck you,_ and I will not _hurt you._"

His eyes glowered down at her, though they did not burn as they often did. Instead, his look spread through her glacially, making her skin suddenly aware of the freezing night temperature.

"Why?" She whined, like a child denied desert, her eyes still wandering away from his.

"Because I care for you!" Javert spat, grabbing her head and holding it still so that she would look him in the eyes and keep her stare there.

"Why?" She repeated. "Why do you care about me when I am so filthy!" Though he could not be sure, he thought he caught the wet glimmer of tears in her narrow brown eyes. His suspicions were confirmed when beads reflecting the moonlight to look like pearls slipped down her round cheeks, and he was reminded of Jean Valjean's pretty, crying daughter. He had a strange thought that both girls were dolls from the same mold, but one had been cast in silver and the other in cheap scrap metal, collected and melted down to make something better than it was previously worth.

"Because you are the most unusual woman I have ever met!" He said through clenched teeth, scowling and sneering and loving her.

As if Javert's confession had been received as an insult, she closed her eyes and began to sob. Her body went limp and he had to hold her tightly so that she would not fall to the ground. Listening while she murmured unintelligible nonsense, he attempted to make her stand steadily, but it was to no avail. Eponine remained adamant about being unable to support her own weight, and, with an annoyed sigh, he found himself picking her up and folding her into his arms.

"I'm so lonely, Arcturus. I feel so alone." She whispered. "And I'm so tired. I just wish I would die."

"Stop your crying." He ordered her. "The neighbors already think we're strange enough."

Eponine silenced herself immediately, shivering at the sternness in his voice as she felt herself being carried inside the house.

"Sophie!" Javert called. The servant woman appeared in an instance, looking disheveled and exasperated.

"I thought she went to bed ages ago!" She exclaimed, observing Eponine's obviously drunken state. "Where in the world did you find her?"

"Right, right, well it doesn't matter now." He said, his head ache having grown ten fold to make a fierce pounding against his temple. "Just put her to bed and make sure she doesn't get into the damn sherry again."

Internally, Javert sighed. He only wanted to go to bed, but he knew his night was hardly over. It was time he finally told his three servants about the relationship between him and his ward, and he could only imagine the reactions when he told them he would be proposing to her tomorrow morning.

**Don't forget to review. ;) I really need to know what you guys think and how I can improve on this.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Chocolate? CHOCOLATE. CHOCOLAAAAAAAAAATE. Ahem. Still in the hospital, but I'm doing better (thank God there's wifi here). Hopefully I'll be out by this time next week. All you reviewers are just so sweet, oh my gosh you're all so kind! :) The next few chapters are a bit short, so I apologize, but I particularly loved writing the next one. ;)**

Eponine woke the next morning with a dull throbbing in her head, a soreness in her eyes, and a stiffness in her neck. The sharp sunlight that had been so rudely thrust upon her still sleeping form intensified her head ache further, and she cracked her eyes open to see Sophie staring down at her disdainfully, a small frown curving her always neutral lips downwards. Only then did she remember last night's events, and even those were a scattered sort of display in her mind. What images and memories she could recall were faint, faded by the alcohol she had consumed. She could scarcely recall Javert's stony-set face in the dark, a broken bottle smashed against the pavement, pressing herself into him and aching at his smell. He had been cross, and she had been sad. And he had carried her in his arms at one point, pressing her face into his chest so that she shivered at his scent. But that was all she could remember.

With a numb kind of disbelieving horror, Eponine found she did not know whether or not she had actually slept with Javert. Slowly, she slid her hands up to her temples and her eyes stared blankly, trying in vain to remember what had happened. Her mind remained visionless and she stifled a scream. Had her nightmare become fulfilled?

Eponine had always dreamed that Marius would be the first and only man she would sleep with, but she also knew that it was far more likely some other man would press his advantage. The hot, sunny day Montparnasse had gotten himself arrested was not the first time he had tried to rape her, and he was not the only man who had tried to rape her, either. Through some miracle and trace of God's grace, she had always gotten herself out of these ugly situations in one way or another, but now she almost wished she hadn't. Drunkenly having sex with Javert seemed even worse than being raped because she had willingly betrayed Marius. She would also have to look every day into the face of the man who had had sex with her while she was in an incapacitated state. With a start, Eponine felt her stomach sink further and she wanted to gag. He would probably expect her to perform for him again. Would she be able to cope with that? Would she be able to hate herself enough to spend each night satiating the lust of a man she barely cared for?

But that was what she wanted, wasn't it? Wasn't that the whole reason she had offered herself to him in the first place? She was filth and she deserved to be treated like it. She was not good enough to be someone's lover, but she could definitely be someone's kept woman. Taking a deep breath, Eponine calmed a considerable amount. Yes, that certainly suited her. She had been born in the gutter, raised on the streets as a full fledged gamin, and now she was the mistress of the most hated and cold hearted man in Paris.

"We need to talk, you and I." Sophie said, sternly, pulling back the covers of her bed roughly.

"I don't have the energy for a conversation right now." Eponine said, redrawing the thick blankets over her head, her hand unconsciously finding its way to the corner of the coverlet she never failed to clutch at night. Never having been able to afford anything more than the worst, she had never come across the soft materials and fabrics that now filled her life living with Javert. When she had first run her fingers over her bed clothes she could not help but repeat the action again and again, and the movement had become a sort of comfort whenever she was troubled. Over time, her hand had begun to take a toll against the fabric, but she had failed to notice the wear she had caused. Now, she saw how she had caused the once perfectly lined white threads to become thin and discolored, like a spider web somebody had crushed and tangled.

"That was some stunt you pulled last night." Sophie said. Though she could not see her, Eponine knew the older woman was standing beside her, no doubt with her hands on her hips in an air of disapprovement.

"To which stunt would you be referring?" Eponine spat. "My drunkenness or my willingness to sleep with the Inspector?"

"Both." The maid answered, curtly.

"Can't you just leave me alone? I want to sleep."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, my dear. The Inspector let you sleep in long enough, now he wants me to speak with you."

Eponine opened her mouth to give a rude retort, but closed it a moment later. Javert wanted Sophie to speak with her? He wouldn't speak to her himself? He fucked her and now he thought himself too good to speak to her? The thought made her simmer steadily on the inside and she pulled the covers from her face, scowling darkly. She had half a mind to punch the man in the face.

"Whatever you have to say, I probably don't give a damn." She said, quietly.

"I used to be a prostitute, you know." Sophie said, tiredly, rummaging through Eponine's wardrobe to find her day clothes. "Years and years ago. It's why I've always been in debt to the Inspector and probably why I've never been able to give my husband children."

Turning on her side, she surveyed the woman who had always been exceptionally kind to her. Though she always looked tired, today she looked exhausted, and the thin gray streak in her hair seemed to stand out prominently as she pulled out a forest gown and laid it on the bed at Eponine's feet. She had never worn this dress before because she didn't like the color, and she frowned at it now. She had always made it a point to wear clothes that could easily let her slip into the shadows and go unnoticed, and she did not stop this habit after Javert had taken her in. She rarely wore colors other than grays, or browns, or blues so dark they looked almost black, and she had paid special attention to avoid this one.

"I was arrested once. I can't remember for what, my memory's been so bad since those days." Sophie paused in her explanation and raised a weary hand to her head. Eponine sat up and reached out a hand, laying it gently on the woman's arm and guided her into the chair by her bedside. "Thank you, dear." She murmured. "While I was in incarceration the Inspector somehow discovered that I was the runaway daughter of his cook. I don't know what was going though his mind, nobody probably ever has, but, when I was released, he offered me a chance of redemption. He offered me a job as a servant and I took it." She paused again, sighing heavily. "It was so hard at first, especially since everyone knew what I had done, or rather, _what I had been. _At first I tried to pretend like everything was normal between my mother and I, but I learned quickly that that wasn't right. My mother's anger was infinite, but a mother loves her child no matter what. There had been so many dark months I had hardly expected any kindness, but she was there, and Emile, and even the Inspector found it within him to be uncruel."

Retrieving the forest gown from her bed, Eponine stood and began to undress, listening to Sophie's story intensely as she helped her dress for the day.

"Emile was just so wonderful. He always smiled at me, always. Before I knew it I was in love with him, and I began to hate myself for it. Me, who had been so hideously dark and who had done a countless number of terrible things with a countless number of people, loved a man who, for all his life, had been a perfect model of one of God's children. I was used and tired and ugly and he was fresh and happy and handsome and sweet. I was ink, he was paper. I loved him so much and I was miserable over it. First I stopped sleeping, then I stopped speaking, then I almost stopped living altogether. I think, in a way, I was trying to make myself repent for my sins. I don't know how it happened, I can't remember, but I think he noticed I loved him. To this day I still have no idea why, but he asked me to marry him. I denied him, of course."

"But you and Emile _are _married!" Eponine exclaimed as the woman began to run a brush through her hair.

"Yes, yes, and we were both miserable at being separated. I wanted him more than anything I had ever wanted in my entire life, but I wouldn't let myself have him. I hated myself too much to let myself be happy, and I must have lain awake a hundred nights wondering for hours what could have happened if I hadn't went with that man and his promises, if I hadn't been so stupid as to be tricked into doing all of those things. I tried to convince him that there were dozens of other woman who would make him far better wives, woman who would be virgins on their wedding night. But he would have none of it. For weeks I tried to convince him that he didn't want me, but in the end he convinced me that _I _wanted _him. _He asked me, why be miserable apart when we could be happy together? At first I thought he only married me out of pity. Imagine my surprise when he told me otherwise. I could never give him children, though. . . ." Sophie murmured, pulling back Eponine's long, dark hair to pin it up to the back of her head, letting the thin traces of her bangs escape their binds to fall loosely around her face.

The maid's cloudy gray eyes stared out of the window blankly and Eponine noticed a gathering storm on the horizon. With a start and a small exclamation, she dropped it to the floor. The face she had seen in the mirror had not been her own. The pale, round face with the constant hint of a faint blush she had had in her youth had returned, accentuated by the chocolate brown strands that covered her forehead and fell around her cheeks. The dark eyes that had looked back at her were the only thing to suggest she was the same person.

"Why was it so important to tell me this?"

"Because, my lovely dear, no matter who you have been and what you have done, you still deserve your share of happiness. Soon you'll be married and you'll understand exactly what I'm talking about." Sophie laughed happily and tugged Eponine along to the door.

"Marry! Who said anything about marriage!" She exclaimed loudly.

"Come now, you're looking very pretty and now the Inspector will want to see you."

In an instance, Eponine found herself being whirled into the hallway, standing face to face with the door of Javert's office. An invisible hand seemed to wrap itself around her throat, and she struggled to breathe knowing he was so close. She still didn't know whether or not they had had sex, but she would be angry with him either way. If he had slept with her, it would mean he had taken the previous night's situation for all it was worth with no regards at all to her purity, and if he hadn't it would mean that she still had not been put in her proper place. She could not explain it, but she was still upset over whatever he had done to her.

"I can't speak with him. I can't." She said, clutching her chest as she forced air into her lungs.

Hearing Eponine's voice outside his door, Javert stood, resisting the urge to rub his hand against his temple. The head ache he had had last night had not yet left him and he was hardly in the mood to review Eponine's antics with her, but he had perfectly planned this day weeks ahead as the day he would propose to her and he would not let his plans be interrupted. In fact, after last night's events, this morning seemed like the perfect opportunity. She wanted him to sleep with her, then he would sleep with her. As her husband.

Opening the door slowly, he found his ward gripping the shoulders of his maid tightly, as if extremely disturbed. He stood in the doorway for a moment, waiting for her to notice him, and when she looked into his eyes and gave a little hiss he took her by the arm gently and led her into the room, Sophie closing the door behind them. Though she resisted him slightly by dragging her feet against the floor, he eventually got her to sit in the chair in front of his desk. Sitting down in his own chair and resting his elbows on the heavily polished desk, Javert interlaced his fingers and watched as she stared at her lap, occasionally flitting her dark eyes up to his to glare at him.

When it became apparent to Eponine that he would not be starting the inevitably long conversation, she took a vow that she would not be speaking either and the two sat in an uncomfortable silence for some time.

"That color suits you." Javert told her, eventually, his deep voice and green eyes as distant as the storm she could see through the window. "You should wear it more often."

Looking at him with vague surprise, she was startled to see nothing but misery in his eyes as he looked at her. There was affection there, too, but it was pained, like her unrequited love for Marius. He was in pain, the worst pain of all, and she had caused it. Once again she had been so stupidly selfish, she had not even considered that Inspector Javert was capable of pain, and now she had forced him into the same anguish she had been living in since she had fallen in love with Marius.

"You didn't do it, did you?" Eponine said, tears spilling from her eyes uncontrollably. She could not remember the last time she had cried, not being able to remember last night. It had definitely been years ago, and the act seemed petty any childish, but, just like he had done for her the night before, he wiped her tears away. Silently, they both came to an understanding. Whatever had happened, whatever pain had been inflicted, whatever terrible demands had been made, they were all nothing but distant memories. All was forgiven between the two of them.

"Of course not." He drawled, dryly. "I respect you far too much to have done that."

"Do you really?" She asked him, smiling through unhappy tears, just like how she smiled through unhappy thoughts. "What about me is there to respect? I'm nothing but a scrawny nobody."

"Eponine Thenardier, you sweet flower, you really have no idea how remarkable a woman you are, do you?"

Looking at her hands again, Eponine folded her fingers into the skirt of her dress, unconsciously making the neckline if her bodice slip down so that he could easily see the swelling of her pale breasts. If the same thing had happened to Cosette, Marius would have looked away in an instance, but Javert could not rip his eyes away from her endowments. Feeling his mouth dry with desire, he swallowed and stealthily pulled his trousers down slightly to loosen the restrainments he felt growing uncomfortably tight against him. He had not allowed himself to have sex with her, but that did not mean he did not want to. Digging his fingers into his palm, he forced his eyes away from her sweet breasts and looked up into her eye, commanding the erection steadily growing in his pants to disappear.

"But all the same," Javert said, probing their conversation into the direction of marriage. "You couldn't last a moment without me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Narrowing her eyes, Eponine frowned at him. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Oh, I'm quite sure." He told her, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Did you hear about the young lady who got herself shot on one occasion?"

"Yes, I do believe she was helping your men in a fight." She replied cheekily. As an afterthought, she added, only seeking to irk him, "A fight which they were losing painfully."

"And, if you can recall, that same young lady hadn't a place to live in the world until a particularly noble police inspector offered her a room."

"Yes, I'm sure he felt quite guilty that it was his over present attention that first got her evicted from her home. People thought the two were sleeping with each other, you know. It created quite a scandal in the slums." She said sharply, her brown eyes glowing with a mocking warmness at him.

"People still think we're sleeping with each other, Eponine." Javert said, quietly, folding his hands beneath his chin.

Her already rosy cheeks burned a deeper shade of red, and she stood up, glaring at him defiantly. "That means nothing," Eponine told him, watching disdainfully as he stood and gave an equally contemptuous glare to her. "I can take care of myself just fine. I might as well have been a orphan for the past ten years, my parents ignored me so much. The only time they ever paid me any attention was when they wanted me for a look out or when I did something that embarrassed them."

A look he remembered from a little street urchin surfaced in her eyes and Eponine gave Javert a smart punch to the arm. Trying to hide his amusement, he pushed her gently, trying her patience with care. Grinning at him playfully, Eponine shoved him back, pressing strongly into his broad chest, making him stumble slightly and smack against the bookcase behind him, causing several leather bound tomes to fall to the ground. Laughing hysterically at his fumble, she closed her eyes and he sprang at her, his wounded pride making a painful anger flaring behind his eyes. Gripping her shoulders, he halfway slid her over the desk that still separated him, knocking down parchment, pens, and paperwork and making a heavy ink bottle smash against the ground to make a dark, lonely stain against the hardwood floor.

"You infuriate me." Javert muttered, pulling her face to his so that they were only inches apart.

He brushed his lips against hers, demanding she kiss him, and Eponine found herself inhaling his scent deeply. A rough, surprised noise jumped out of her throat as he forced his mouth over hers and he gave a slight moan as she curled her hand into his hair, tugging on the red strands to make his scalp give a sharp yelp of protest. His world was at complete peace for a moment, but it was quickly interrupted. With a sickening turn, Javert felt his world being turned upside down, his back colliding painfully with the floor as she flipped him to the ground, her kiss having caught him off guard. In shock, he stared up at her, wondering how on earth she had managed to make him fall to the ground, and she slid over his desk and stood above him, smirking saucily. Clenching his teeth, he sneered at her as Eponine sat on his chest triumphantly, placing her knees on either side of his head.

"It seems that the she-wolf has gotten the best of her mate." Javert grunted, baring his teeth behind his sneer so that she could easily see his curved insizors.

"If I am a wolf, Monsieur, then we are perfectly matched." She said, placing a finger under his chin to tilt his head upwards.

"Completely and incandescently." He agreed, raising his hand to run his fingers through her gathered hair. "It seems the she-wolf has also stolen my heart." Javert murmured, his eyes as dark and moody as the clouds swirling outside the window at their side.

"Please!" Eponine snorted. "You know as well as I do that you have no heart!"

"My soul then!" Javert exclaimed, quickly.

Her pink lips curving softly, she graced him with the smile of an angel, and, as if the angels in heaven were smiling, too, a burst of light broke forth from the clouds. Yellow and white sunlight fell onto the gloomy face of Paris, telling her to dry her tears, and he stared at the presence of affection in her lovely face. He had once again dispelled Marius from her mind, and in this moment of happiness, she was truly beautiful, as beautiful as Cosette and any other young swan. He had finally done what she had first asked him to do. He had made her forget. In return, the light from the open window fell over his face, making his red hair shine brightly and the many scars on his pale face vanish. Something within her chest twinged and, for a moment, she ceased breathing while taking in his appearance. She could not help but remember, how, just after she had been kicked out of her old flat, she had decided he was handsome.

"I'll take good care of it." Eponine told him, lightly running her fingertips against the lapel of his uniform. "I promise."

Breathing deeply, Javert felt his chest constrict beneath her weight and he scowled. This was not how he had planned this morning, and he felt his temper being poked at the abeyancy that had corrupted his contrivance. If he had executed the meeting like he had initially thought it would go, he would have first sat her down at his desk, carefully started a conversation, veered their talk into the direction of marriage, persuasively listed several benefits she would receive from their union, and then wait patiently for her answer. If she had said yes, he would have made a sign to show his satisfaction. If she said no, he was not quite sure what he would do.

He swallowed, and it seemed ineffably loud in his sudden silence. Like other great or tyrannical men, his plans had come to ruin, banished by some catatonic occurrence. In his case, Eponine herself and the chaos she had brought into his life.

"I love you, will you marry me?" Javert said, quickly, his question nothing but a tumble of words.

". . . What?" She murmured, sliding off of him and sitting on the floor beside his form. "You can't. . . be serious. . . ."

"Why wouldn't I be?" He said, his eyes locked on the ceiling above him.

In a split second, all of the shattered thing he had been tediously putting back together again suddenly fell apart again. Through his peripheral vision, he could see her face pale and her lips part slightly. Eponine felt like somebody had just smacked her over the head with something large and hard and heavy. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't blink, she couldn't move an inch. She only felt like she had two options, the acid in her stomach making her want to be sick, and the rough spirit in her wanting to shout. Instead, she shattered.

"It's okay. It's. . . okay. You don't have to do that for me. It's okay, really. You don't have to do all of that just to take care of me. You don't have to do all of this anymore! I'll leave, right now! You'll never have to do a single thing for me again." Closing her eyes, Eponine shook her head, raising her hands to the sides of her head with distress.

"You stupid girl." He muttered, sitting up and gripping her thin arm to prevent her from moving. "You still don't understand."

"No, I don't understand!" She yelled at him, standing with impeccable speed and yanking herself out of his grasp. Slapping her arms beneath her palms, she gave a hybrid noise, half cry and half moan, and backed up against the wall. "I don't understand why you would be willing to give up so much for me!"

Downstairs, Emile and Sophie both dropped their eyes to the floor. Several minutes earlier they had heard a loud thump, then Eponine's laughing, but those were the only hints as to what was going on in the room above them. Now they could hear every single word she shouted, trying to ignore it, heeding to their master's and mistress' rights to privacy. Laura, however, sitting in the kitchen and watching vaguely as lunch boiled away on the stove, listened intently to each word that passed between the two, her wrinkled face grim and bored.

Scowling furiously at her dim rantings, Javert jumped to his feet, ignoring the throbbing in his back,

"Why do you care about me?" Eponine sobbed, covering her ears with her hands. "I don't understand you at all! Why-!"

"Because you cried!" He shouted back at her, the fierce timbre of his deep voice instantly silencing the entire house. Slightly frightened by his volume, she opened her eyes warily and took a step backwards away from him."You cried last night, and just now. That's when I knew for sure that I loved you. I love you, Eponine. You've told me you're lonely, now I'm offering you a chance of companionship. You said you don't want to be sad anymore, you told me to get rid of your pain, but I haven't been able to do that because you won't let me." Wrapping his arms around her forcibly, Eponine found herself cloaked in his smell and her tears dried against the chest of his uniform. His voice quickly dropped to a harsh whisper. "I didn't mean for this to happen and I've never been in love before. Marius Pontmercy is a lost cause." He said, cruelly. "It's stupid to hope he'll ever care about you. But I adore you, Eponine. At least, I adore the girl who pulled me back from the parapet. I adore the girl who flipped me to the floor just now. I don't like the sad, moping thing that covers her up sometimes. Now I'm going to ask you one more time." The inflection of his voice almost suggested a threat, and she stared back at him, glassily. "Will you marry me?"

Looking down at her hands, she saw they had been covered in the thick, black ink that had splattered against the floor. Murmuring something unintelligible with a bitter tone, he took out his handkerchief and attempted to wipe the black stains off of her fingers, though he only succeeded in spreading it to stain his own hands. Giving an exasperated sigh, he slapped the soiled peace of fabric down against his desk, still clutching her hands in his.

Eponine felt numb, like when she had been shot and had lived in the rosy world of narcotics for several weeks. She was thinking of Marius and Officer Liviet and Inspector Javert all at the same time. She had had two proposals in two days, but she knew Marius still wouldn't have paid an ounce of attention to her. _Marius is a lost cause, _she told herself, _I was stupid to think he would ever care about me. _At this moment, her mind and body were not connected. Before she could will herself to stop it, the words were already tumbling out of her mouth. She hadn't the slimmest clue as to what she was doing.

"Alright."

**Remember to review. :D**


	19. Chapter 19

**LesMisLover88, Cosette is indeed supposed to have brown hair, whereas Eponine has blond in the book. However, I've always written them oppositely to further illustrate the foil between them both. Mousy brown hair has seemed to fit Eponine better for me, making her blend into the filthy background of the slums, where clean, pretty, innocent had clean and pretty blond hair. Just to clear that up. :)  
**

**This is a short chapter, (now this I do have to apologize for :P), but it's actually one of the ones I had the most fun writing, and I'd really appreciate hearing what you all think about it. Still in the hospital, but I'm doing better. Thanks for the well wishes. :)  
**

The dank and choking smell of mold and cheap tobacco filled the air, though none of the brutes in the room noticed it. The broken glass of stolen brandy bottles littered the floor, crunching under big, worn boots, stolen from the unlucky aristocrats who found themselves walking alone at night. The dim, foul smelling grease candles that burned weakly barely illuminated the house, what light they did produce only sending creepy, flickering shadows against the grime coated walls. Hideous rings of smoke filled the air, all rising from one particularly disgusting man, a once fine pipe wedged between his thin, scarred lips, as broken and blackened as the few remaining bits of teeth he had left. The clothes this man wore resembled something similar to a uniform a soldier would have worn several decades earlier, though it was stained and ripped, having lost its former glory along with its owner. The men who filled the room coughed and snorted and snuffled, all of them seeming to be sick with one illness or another, all waiting for the rest to arrive. Some leaned against the wall, the only chair in the room being occupied by the man in the ugly uniform, sitting uncomfortably in the creaky construction like a king on a gilded throne, and others leaned against the slimy walls. Rats could be heard rummaging through the thin walls, but none of the men paid attention to the eery thumps, having never lived in a place where there weren't rats in the walls.

This place, carved out of some hole or another to create some strange, dark hovel, was an ideal place for goblins and other creatures of the night, including these ugly cut throats. Under the hazy, smoke filled air, a ring of brutes formed around the man in the chair, allowing the hideous goblin king to leer at his audience, his nose upturned and broken and his face heavy with self pride. This man had spent the past decade clawing himself to the top of his rickety throne, and he sat in his poorly made chair with a haughty arrogance, knowing that the men around him would obey his any command so long as it suited themselves. Suddenly, the man in the center's flinty eyes flitted upwards, glaring at a thin and dark figure in the doorway. The last man having arrived, the figure nodded at the man in the chair and hid himself in the darkest corner of the room, his eyes still painfully unaccustomed to light.

"Patron-Minette!" The man in the center shouted, his voice thin and reedy, still grinding the mouth of his pipe between his teeth. "I've gathered you tonight to discuss an important matter." He said, clasping his hands in an air of grace and nobility. He waited, grinning slyly, and several of the men laughed. In return, he gave a mockingly deep bow. "You see, it has come to my attention that the scum filled bastard Inspector Javert-" Nearly the entire room booed and shouted in protest, only the man in the corner remaining silent, his entire form still hidden in shadow. "It has come to my attention that we have been living in fear of the bastard Inspector for too long. I say, who is he to plague our domain! Who is he to decide our fates! Who is he to sneer down at us when he is no better than the rest!"

The room roared as each sentence fell from the man's lips in a hoarse and damaged shout and one man slapped him over the back in full agreement.

"It's true!" Another man shouted. "I've heard that man is a son of a whore! I'm the son of a whore, too, so who is he to push us around!"

"And now, Patron-Minette, Inspector Javert has gone one step too far!" The man in the center growled. With the small candle burning low, the light that flashed in his dark eyes gave him the appearance of a feral dog. "Inspector Javert has kidnapped my daughter! And I have reason to believe he's using her for devious purposes!"

"I seen him with my own eyes, holding her and such!" A thin, high voice sang through the air, the only hint of femininity in the dim and dull place. A streak of whispy blond hair caught the light of the grease candle and, for a slim moment, the men in the room saw a frail skeletal form, barely clothed by a paper thin dress and shawl, kneeling at her father's feet. "He tried to do the same with me, too, but I was too smart to fall for his tricks. I won't let him do me wrong like he did her, I told myself."

"And we just cringe to think that bastard is slipping it to our own flesh and blood." The same man said, slowly, his voice nothing but a menacing mutter.

This phrase sent the room in an uproar, all agreeing that the police officer was in the supreme wrong, though most men in the room had commit ed the Inspector's crime and worse. Even the man in the corner shifted with agitation, his fingers twisting against his palms. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small knife and ran his finger tips over the smooth side of the blade to calm the rage bubbling up from his core, forcing red patches to bloom in his cheeks. He gave a silent sigh as the slick shank knicked his thumb, his fingers flooding pleasurably as blood burst from the deep cut, thick, salty drops falling to the floor sickeningly. The scarlet beads hissed as they met with the dusty, grimy floor, and they whispered evil words into the man's ear, helping him to picture the Inspector in grotesque and tortuous scenes. The throbbing in his wounded hand tickled and the mad man had to suppress a laugh as the blood on the ground began to sizzle and steam, making bright clouds of scarlet mist rise from the ground to fill the room from floor to ceiling. Smiling through the crimson haze, he hummed a little tune, and all people in the room paid special attention to ignore the man. Ever since they had broken him out of prison, Patron-Minette had noticed the man's changed behavior, and they had learned not to confront him on his childlike whimsies; each time they did only leading to loud and usually violent outbursts. In his madness, the man had obtained a child like innocence; children, however, feel emotion more vividly than adults; hatred especially. The mad man who had the innocence of a child also had its quick to loathe. He had all the sweetness of youth, but he also had all of its danger.

"My friends, my brothers," Continued the gruesome man in the center, his eyes twinkling malevolently. "It is high time we take this rotten filth of a man down to where he really belongs!"

"Let's bring him down!"

"Show him how life down here with the rest of us feels!"

"We'll make his life a living Hell!"

"Let's torch his place!"

"For my sister!" The girl with the blond hair said, her small voice piping loudly in the room filled with the deep rumble of men's voices like a piccolo.

"Yes, my brothers, soon we will show Inspector Javert where he really belongs and punish him for all he has done to us!" The man in the grubby uniform carefully withdrew something slick and shiny from the inside of his coat, cradling it gently in his hands. With the ease of practice, he leaned back in his chair and twirled the object in his hand. A glimpse of light reflected off of metal and the room fell into silence as a quiet and threatening click was heard, the singular noise falling upon the crooks' ears as loud as the shot the same instrument could produce. "See this bullet?" The man said, holding up a singular chunk of material for all the room to see, grinning broadly to grossly display the little bits of teeth left in his gums. "I'll be the one putting it through Inspector Javert's brain."

Again, the room burst into a frenzy of shouting and the man in the center caught the mad man's eye and, for the second time, they gave each other a nod of affirmation. Becoming aggravated at the excess noise, the man in the corner carefully slid from his position in the shadows and left the ugly building where the Patron-Minette was holding their meeting. It was still raining from the day's storm, and any light the moon may have cast was diluted by a mask of thick, heavy clouds, dozing in the sky like great cottony giants. No lanterns in the area were lit, but the man fared well in the darkness; in fact, there was nothing he liked better than to be cloaked in a cover of a choking blindness. It let him wander the streets in peace without being afraid of anyone recognizing him and turning him into the police.

Though he was far away from where the Inspector lived, the mad man would do anything to get a glimpse of the woman he adored. Slinking against the high fences and low sidewalks that made up the better part of Paris, he took the quickest route he could, and, when finally he stepped in front of the iron gate that separated him from his Juliet, he clung fast to the iron bars. As quietly as he could, the man stealthily twisted himself up and over the fence, dropping catlike to the garden on the other side, the only noise he made minute and undetectable to the untrained ear. As if he had done it a dozen times before, he scaled the brick wall below his love's window, climbing like an acrobat with impossible skill, quickly shoving open the girl's window to rest on the sill comfortably. So she wouldn't catch a cold in the strange summer's night air, he closed the window and stepped carefully to her bedside, watching with a peaceful contentment as her chest rose up and down softly. Only several times before had he allowed himself to enter her room, but each time he had, he had found himself enraptured by her beauty while she slept.

The girl's pale face was slightly pink, as if she had had a strenuous day, and her hair was mussed from the tossing and turning she had participated in shortly after falling asleep. The sight fell upon his eyes like he was Moses himself staring into the burning bush and listening to the voice of God. The steady sound of her breathing was like the very essence of his soul, and he matched his own respiration to hers so that the sound of his own erratic breaths would not wake her.

His fingers trembling slightly, the man dared himself to touch her, but the sight of blood on his hand made him immediately withdraw himself, a cold reminder that both of their worlds were full of darkness. Not taking his eyes away from her incandescent features, he pulled a thin white cloth from his pocket and wiped the blood off of his hand, making sure there was not a single hint of scarlet to mar her perfect porcelain skin. Brushing her hair out of his face, the man ached for her to wake up, to see him, to speak with him, so that he could tell her how much he adored her. In his fantasies, she would wake up, spring into his arms and wrap him into a warm and tight embrace. She would cling to him and he would smell her hair and they would each profess their love for the other. He would take her away from the Inspector and this place and they would get married. They would have three children, two boys who he would teach all he knew and a daughter whose hair he would brush every night by the fire and who he would protect devotedly, and they would all be very happy.

Like Javert, the man preferred his woman with a trace of autumn in their person. He had seen countless numbers of perfect, china doll angels, and he had fucked a fair few of them, but this girl had always stood out to him. All the other pretty hussies he had been with were just that: pretty. At one time he thought he had preferred his woman stupid, easy to control, easy to manipulate, and easy to play with, but this was no longer the case. The girl peacefully asleep before him was someone he would be able to talk to on lonesome nights, someone who would be able to give him advice in troublesome times, someone he would be able to share the way he felt about the world, having grown up in the same terrible place with the same terrible opinions. She was intelligent, experienced, and she had witnessed the same horrors he had growing up. He was stained with darkness, and she was blackened, too.

He might have felt differently about marriage at another time, but the rain beating steadily against the window made him feel lonely. Passionately, he caressed her face and she stirred and murmured something that sounded like a name. Cracking open her eyes slightly, the girl stared at him drowsily, awake but still caught in the dazed land of sleep. Her sleepy dark eyes bore into his handsome ones and the man felt startled, as if he had just been caught stealing an apple from a vendor.

"Arc. . . tur-?"

"Shh, go back to sleep. You can leave soon but not yet. We've got to get rid of the Inspector first." He whispered comfortingly, and she nodded in consent, stifling a yawn. Thinking the person at her side was someone else entirely, the girl buried herself into his touch, smiling faintly as his cold, gloved hand cupped her cheek.

"Soon we'll be married." She said, softly, her hand curling over her pillow. Instinctively, he placed his own pale skinned hand over hers, tentatively tracing the patterns of her knuckles.

"Soon we'll be married, my love." He sighed back to her, his pretty red lips parting with a kind smile to expose pretty white teeth.

A clap of thunder rolled over the sky, roaring with its terrible voice, and the lightning that followed it illuminated the room for a ghastly moment. Straightening up, the man took the weather's sudden turn of violence as a cue to leave. As quietly as he had slinked into the room, he opened the window and slipped back out, disappearing back into the night and all of its horrors. Before he left, however, he made sure to leave the red rose that he had been keeping in the inside of his jacket on the sill so that she would see it and understand that he had been there. Once the flower was in place, he exited his stage, creeping through the garden as silent as a snake. Wrapping his hands around the slick iron bars of the fence, he hoisted himself to the top, careful to avoid the spiked ends that could easily impale him.

"_Parting is such sweet sorrow_." The man recited as soon as he landed soundly on the ground, smiling through icy rain that ran down his face in a stream of handsome madness.


	20. Chapter 20

**This is a relatively uneventful chapter. Woops. This will probably be the last one that doesn't center on Eponine and Javert so. . . yaaaaaaay. I guess. I have a feeling you guys are going to really like the next chapter hahahahaha. ha. Thanks again for the well wishes, readers. I'm home and well if not back to my usual health. I'll try to update early this week out of celebration ;)**

**Oh yeah, before I forget. I love it when you include favorite quotes from chapters in your reviews (no, this is not just an ego thing. . . I swear), it helps find what kind of writing you all find ideal. :)  
**

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Javert drummed his fingers against the top of his desk, his other hand absentmindedly scratching away at another inmate's paperwork. Here and there he would realize he had made a mistake and crossed out whatever errors he had made with a slight frustration. He rarely made any faults while working, but he blamed his sudden lack of concentration to the pack of officers constantly walking up and down the hallway outside his office at the police headquarters and the shouts of the mad prostitute down the corridor, though he had worked in far more distracting conditions. What was really creating his distant attention, however, was the prospect that he was getting married the following week. He was by no standards nervous, only anxious to be wed already.

Eponine had dragged out their engagement long enough and, now that it was midsummer, he was becoming increasingly frustrated, both physically and mentally. He ached for sexual release, though he would not dream of initiating anything with her, it being so close to their wedding day. Gritting his teeth at the prospect of finally taking her to his bed, he ignored the sinful thoughts manifesting themselves in his mind's eye and tried to concentrate on the black and white forms in front of him. Amongst his sexual agitation also lay the problem that he knew she did not feel for him quite as strong as he felt for her. Although he refused to ponder it, he was not ignorant to the fact that she was still very much in love with one Baron Marius Pontmercy. Several days prior, he had received a letter addressed to Eponine Thenardier in the care of Inspector Javert, and, seeing that the return address read the '_Pontmercy household' _he had decided against giving it to her and instead opened it himself.

After a year, the young man had finally discovered the whereabouts of his former friend and, claiming about something his father had owed to the Thenardiers, he and his wife requested an audience with Eponine as soon as possible. Though he knew he was being irrational, he did not want to risk the chance of losing her to some stupid child's fantasy she was still clinging onto, and Javert had promptly burned the letter so that she wouldn't stumble upon it in his office accidentally. Once they were married, he would let her see the young student again, but until then he would shelter her from the attentions of all other men. Several times he had noticed a man looking her way with interest in their eyes, and each time he did it only made him more impatient to marry her. He had even caught Officer Liviet staring at her once when he had dropped by his house one evening to deliver some consequential news. Eponine had stared back for a fraction of a moment, smiled politely, then dropped her gaze almost immediately. Javert had been quite pleased with the amount of attention she had paid him, but he still did not refrain from making the young officer depart quickly. He adored her and he would not make some small mistake that would devastate whatever feelings she had for him.

All in all, he was annoyed, paranoid, and distracted. If someone decided to cross the thin barrier of his temper today it would not end well for them.

Signing his name on one last document, Javert stood tiredly and shuffled the papers into perfect order. Leaving the stack of parchment in an infallibly neat pile on the corner of his desk, he stretched his legs, stiff and aching from lack of use, and stepped through the door that led out into the hallway. On a normal day, he would have left the police head quarters and returned home to be with Eponine by the fireplace in his parlor, but he needed to speak with the head of the police force first. When the previous police chief had retired in the past year, the open position had been offered to Javert, but he had turned it down, thinking himself unworthy of anything he didn't already have, leaving Officer Reunaldi to fulfill the job.

In the hallway, a man gave him a dark glower and Javert shoved past him, remembering him vaguely as the idiot boy whose fingers he had fractured the night he had gone drinking with the other officers. Javert gave a glance back at him, sneering haughtily, and the two openly displayed their hatred for the other, one because the other had insulted his wife, and one because the other had permanently damaged his fingers.

When he stepped into the open doorway at the end of the hallway, he discovered there was already another man in the office speaking to the chief of police. Standing in the doorway somewhat annoyed, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the jamb, his eyes narrowed with impatience while he waited for the other man to take his leave.

"One moment, Liviet." The ugly, aging man at the desk said, raising a solitary finger to the young man like was nothing but a child. "What is it Javert? Come to try and resign again?" He said, humorously, his thick and heavy eyebrows twisting upwards.

"Liviet can continue with his report. I've nothing important, I can wait until after." He answered, quietly. Despite his eagerness to return home, he would still allow himself to portray only the cleanest amounts of subordination, order, and politeness when speaking to his superior.

"Nonsense. Whatever you have to say is much more important." He said, and the handsome young officer cast a surly and disdainful look at the other occupants of the room, vastly irritated by the man who had interrupted his conversation with his superior officer. Rocking on the heels of his feet, Liviet copied Javert and crossed his arms over his chest, settling into a stubborn silence, agreeing with his chief and motioning to the Inspector to say whatever he needed to say.

"I only need to request several days off of duty the following week for a personal matter." Javert said, assuming a mechanically perfect form of posture and tone of voice. His blank face gave no hints as to what his personal matter may be, however, and Reunaldi stared at him in mild surprise.

"On most days I practically have to barricade the doors to get you out of here. What personal matter would be so important that you have to take several days off? Your father isn't ill, is he?"

"My father is in a remarkable state of health. I merely foresee next week to be slightly busy."

"And what personal things would you be doing next week?"

He was silent for a moment, his flinty eyes glinting in the last whispers of sunlight disappearing through the window to his right. He thought for a moment about lying to keep his own personal life private, but he decided against it. "This following Monday would be the date of my wedding." Javert said, his voice as rigidly straight as his back in front of his superior. Though nobody in the room noticed it, Liviet, now situated in the corner, stumbled backwards slightly, slipping over his own feet, his face ashen and expressionless. A rush of blood pounded and roared in his ears so loudly that he missed the next few sentences passing between the other officers, listening to their warped voices as if they were speaking behind a thick and heavy pane of glass.

A cymbal crashed within his temple and he slipped out of the room, neither men noticing him leave. His blood burned like molten lead in his veins, but Lestan felt impossibly cold as a deep block of oppression settled over his shoulders, crushing him with heavy and clammy hands of ugly emotions. Pushing past cells and doors and inmates and other gendarmes, he found himself bursting into the darkness of the hot, summer air. It was well past night fall and, though lanterns were lit softly everywhere around him, he could barely notice the dazzling light around him through his catastrophic mixture of pain, jealousy, anger, anguish and, worst of all, heartbreak.

There was some type of holiday going on, though he didn't know for what, and there were many people around him, men out with their wives and mistresses and lovers, men out with their friends and brothers and children and family, all smiling happily in celebration, but, like he had always been, Lestan de Liviet was alone. He had no family, himself being an only child and his affectionless parents having died some years ago. He had thought that, in the fool's hope of a first love, he might have finally found a place to call home and a woman to call wife with Eponine, but his dreams had been destroyed. He smiled kindly, he took pride in himself as a police officer, he laughed with the few men who considered him a friend, but internally he was nothing but an immense and complicated structure of depression. He could not help but think about how, although he had scarcely spoken with her, Eponine always filled him with an innumerable amount of happiness. Now he thought bitterly about how she had turned his joy into dust. The worst part of his sorrow was that he knew he still loved, adored, and worshiped the woman in the window who sometimes sang feeble rhymes. Pushing rudely past the collective amounts of happy people, he scowled, walking quickly and meaningfully in a particular direction.

He was not crying like the time before when Eponine had delivered to him her fatal rejection, there was not enough energy left inside his young body to weep, but, if anyone had been listening attentively to him as he shoved past person after person, they would have noticed the unfathomable amounts of tortuous pain flowing from what seemed to be the very core of his being. Lestan felt as if he was lost in a coldness that not even God could rectify, trapped in a nirvana whose peace and happiness had been replaced with war and sorrow. His hope, his dreams, were nothing but twisted fragments of someone he used to be, but no longer was. Another cold, almost heartless being had replaced him, worming his way into his mind to think bitterly and icily of every moment and aspect of life.

By the time he reached his desired destination, there was not a single person on the bridge above the river Seine. The warm summer air made a humid mist rise from above the vast stretch of swirling dark water before him and he lifted one shaky leg to the top of the parapet, soon followed by another. Somewhere in the distance he thought he heard a pair of men's boots beating against the cobbled pavement so that the sharp sounds of footsteps filled the air, tearing at his ear drums. He did not concentrate on it for long, however. The fog was thick, but if someone were to walk past him at that moment they would have easily been able to see him perched precariously on the stone railing that separated him from life and death, and he did not want to be seen. If he was prevented from taking his own life in some way he did not want to live with the scandal and embarrassment of attempted suicide.

But a prevention was probably not very likely.

The river spoke silent words to him, heartless and uncaring and, like always, as unsympathetic as the people that filled his sad and empty world. It urged him to jump, gladly offering its huge jaws in a wide yawn to swallow him up so that no one would be able to find his body for weeks until it was fished out of the dank and polluted water by some peasants. It would have looked like he had been pushed, erasing even the faintest trace of suicide that might mark his body. People paid such scarce attention to him that they probably wouldn't even be able to guess that he had taken his own life. All this while he had been falling apart and not a single man or woman had noticed it, but now it was too late.

"I've tried to crawl out of my damn past for as long as I can remember, but now you win." He said, wretchedly glaring at the starless and moonless sky where he envisioned God to be watching him. "I've done a lot of bad things in my life, I killed that man, but now I've made up for it, haven't I? Now I'm a good citizen, but you still won't let me be."

Lestan's fists clenched and he tried in vain to ignore the dazzling lights that seemed to be creating themselves behind his eyes. The footsteps that still hung in the air violently seemed to be getting nearer and nearer and it was clearly evident that, whoever the man was, he was crossing the bridge. Despite the fact that his hands trembled slightly, he knew he would have to jump soon lest he risk being found out by the man crossing the bridge. However, as soon as he dwelled on them again, the slapping of shoe against pavement stopped instantaneously and he gave a sigh of relief, still thinking himself alone to speak aloud his last few thoughts. Little did he know that, a few feet away, a ghostly thin and seemingly opaque figure watched him.

"Alright. You win. I give up. She won't ever love me. No one ever has and no one ever will, and I don't want to live in a world where no one wants me."

Raising one black, worn, and tentative boot to the edge of the parapet, he gave a shuddering breath, something meant to be a hiss but only carving itself into the near silence as a sob. His sole scraped the edge of the crumbling, weather beaten stone there and he thought that the wet scrape might be the last sound he heard before the whistling of wind filled his ears and a sharp, devastating crash into cold and cruel water ended his life.

"I'm so bored with it all." He murmured, closing his eyes, tiredly.

Lestan's foot slipped and jerked forward but he did not plummet to his death as he thought he would. A hand gripping the back of his coat pulled him backwards roughly, making him fall to the ground of the bridge painfully. After a stunned moment, his back throbbing numbly, he looked up with a scowl at the man who had saved his life. Instead he found a small being that seemed neither male nor female, their large blue eyes glistening beneath the thin layer of mist that separated them.

"What if I said I cared about you, Miseour?" The person that had pulled him back from his dark and deep death said, tentatively. "Your life is a gift from God. It's a sin to take away that gift."

Still laying on his back, he stared into the face of a stranger whom he thought looked slightly familiar. The voice Lestan had heard was obviously a girl's voice, though the individual before him was dressed like a boy, complete with ragged trench coat that hung down to their knees and a cap that covered their flossy blond hair messily. What he didn't know was that, living as a young girl in the slums of Saint-Michelle, it was safer to dress like a man at night.

"Come on, Miseour. I'll get you out of this heat. It's making you dizzy, that's all. Come on now. . . ."


	21. Chapter 21

**I updated early because. . . BECAUSE I COULDN'T POSSIBLY WAIT ANY LONGER HAHAHAHA. **

**Reviewers you are all just magnificent, divine, sublime people I just love you all. You are what keeps this story going.  
**

There were two people kneeling before the priest somberly, their faces grim and their voices only being produced in hushed tones. If he had not been reciting the ancient Latin words of a Catholic wedding ceremony he would have highly doubted he was conducting a marriage for these two deeply serious beings. And it was not just these two people who seemed oddly oppressive, but the entire cathedral, the entire city for that matter, seemed to be enshrouded in a deep cloud of gloom. Perhaps it was because nearly a year ago to that day dozens of young men had willingly sacrificed themselves for their country, their hopeful plans never having fully coming to fruition after their deaths.

Even the small group of people occupying only the very front pews, for there were so few of them, seemed to be showing every emotion but happiness. A young girl, presumably the brides younger sister, seemed to be watching the ceremony mistily, her eyes glassy and her mind somewhere far away. The pretty dress she wore was too big and hung off of her shoulders, wrists, and hips, emphasizing her already unattractive thinness and making her look like the little sickly birds that migrated too early at the end of winter and ended up freezing to death. An aging woman's eyes brimmed with salty tears that slipped down her face silently, and her husband, an ugly and scarred old man with gray hair scattered with white patches here and there seemed bored and impatient, his drumming fingers against the empty seat beside him catching the holy man's eye even from where he stood at the altar. Sitting a small distance away from the others was a young man with hair the color of corn silk, his posture as meticulously perfect as the red haired man in front of him. This boy, who was dressed in the same navy uniform as the man kneeling at the altar, seemed to be watching every aspect of the ceremony intensely, his livid blue eyes as sharp and clear as the finest Austrian crystal.

In addition there were three servants, a tired woman with a weary smile and a premature streak of gray spreading through her long brown hair, a pale man with curly hair and an impassive expression, his eyes staring disdainfully behind the thick panes of his spectacles, and an elderly woman who looked as bored as the man who was drumming his fingers against the seat of the pew he sat on.

The people assembled in this place were few and odd, but they were nothing compared to the bride and groom. Instead of a veil, the woman's head was crowned with white roses, their stems twisted and concealed in her hair so that only their blooms were visible. The pale face that watched him carefully was pale and gaunt, her dark hair colliding against her ivory skin to make both colors stand out sharply vivid, and her dress was of a simple and modest cut, nothing at all what he would have thought a woman of obvious nobility would wear to her wedding.

The priest's lips paused for a brief moment and he raised two fingers to the red haired man's forehead, blessing him with the cool holy water on the tips of his fingers. Though the groom seemed to be of a wealthy class, it was highly apparent to the man conducting the holy unity that the bride was marrying a man far below her rank. The man's icy green eyes stared unblinkingly at him while more of the service's words fell from his lips, and he began to feel slightly unnerved about his unchanging expression.

All the time he was reciting his vows, Javert could not steal his eyes away from Eponine's. Like her sister, it seemed she was in some far away place, far, far from where she really was standing before him, dressed in white with delicate roses in her long hair and her cheeks a fair shade of pink. She was pretty, charming, beautiful even, but her eyes said nothing as they bore into his own. She was awake, but she was dreaming, he could tell by the familiar soft parting of her lips that she was thinking of someone entirely different than him, and Javert could only guess it was the same curly haired baron whom she had wasted countless hours thinking of. He was aggravated for a moment, banishing the immense desire to scowl at her and shake her shoulder to draw her back to reality. Instead, when he stopped speaking and the room waited for her own words, he took her hand in his and gave it a slight pinch, something the room did not ignore.

From where he sat, Liviet frowned, and, when she did not respond to him, Javert whispered under his breath, "Eponine!"

"Oh, yes!" She said aloud, jumping slightly. "I'm sorry!" She whispered back to him before beginning her own vows.

Eponine was distracted that morning, but not by the reason that Javert suspected. For the last month, periodically, she had discovered red roses placed on her windowsill, their thorns intact and their petals slightly bruised. She knew immediately exactly who they were from, though she did not know how or why Montparnasse was able to send her these gifts. After a lot of deep thought she had concluded that Patron-Minette was trying to communicate with her for some purpose, and she had quickly become frightened at the prospect of being dragged back to her old life. Javert thought her unwilling to marry him quickly, but she was actually eager to finally wed him. It meant that she would no longer have to sleep alone at night, worrying about some sexually obsessed boy breaking into her room and watching her while she slept.

She had gotten into a habit of waking before Sophie came into her room each morning and, if even a single crimson flower lay against her window pane, she would quickly get up and burn it by holding the bloom over a lit candle until it was alive with dancing and flickering flame, returning to bed only after her job was completed and pretending she had never risen in the night. The only problem she had with this method was the sickening aroma of roses that perfumed her room each time she incinerated one of Montparnasse's gifts. What unnerved her most of all, however, was, each time she stayed awake a number of nights to catch the boy whose hands were soaked in blood entering her room, there was no sign of him. She would collapse into bed when the first signs of dawn made orange and pink streaks in the gray abyss above her, expecting him not to come, and, dozing for a few measly moments, she would later rise again to find another red rose beside her window, or, on one disturbing occasion, one placed gently on the little table beside her bed.

Eponine finished her last word with a miniscule sigh and, seeing an almost pleased look in Javert's eyes, her eyes lit up with a new kind of attentiveness. Dutifully sliding a ring over her finger, he looked at her, proud but stoic, and, when he leaned close to her face to kiss her in front of the entire audience assembled, her face flushed a bit more. Neither of them looked fairly happy as their lips touched, however. Eponine was still slightly agitated by the combination of a lack of sleep and worry about her Father's associates, and Javert merely refused to show any form of affection in front of someone other than his wife.

The priest remarked to himself about how, by the serious and grim expression on each person's face as they slowly stood from where they knelt, it seemed more likely that they were attending a funeral instead of a wedding.

Bells rang when Eponine, Javert, and their party stepped out of the church, but the pealing in the air only sounded sharp and harsh, their tolls scraping peoples' ears like dull and rusty knives. Eponine winced at the sound as people walking in the streets looked up to see the newly unified husband and wife. More than one person was surprised to see Inspector Javert, who always seemed so cold, loveless, and imposing, with a woman dressed in white at his side. Peasants and nobles alike stared at the pair and, when a second look confirmed that it was indeed the heartless officer of Paris with one arm intertwined into a fairly pretty woman's, they grimaced, pitying whatever dim creature had permitted herself to be married to such a terrible man.

"Hello again, Miseour." Azelma said to Liviet, quietly, and he gave her a curt nod in return.

The young officer had not been surprised to find that the girl who had pulled him back from the bridge above the River Seine was the younger sister of his beloved. In fact, he had mentally kicked himself for not having realized their evident and obvious resemblance when he had first looked at her. And now that the girl with flossy blond hair persisted in first walking at his side, taking the seat closest to him inside the chapel, and now speaking to him so directly, he tried his best to ignore her, trying not to remember that embarrassing night of his life just one week before when, in a spurt and combination of both madness and despair, he had tried to end his own life. Azelma, refusing to take any of his ignorance, soon corrupted his plans, chattering away to him quietly about frivolous things, folding the skirts of the dress her sister had leant her for this wedding. Grudgingly, Liviet endured her speech with complete and impassive silence, watching wistfully as Javert and Eponine stepped down the front steps of the church.

The day was long, stressful, arduous, and Eponine's shoulder ached dully from where her Father had broken it once when she was thirteen, the thick and heavy fabric of her dress weighing her arms down painfully. It was late in the day, and the sky was already beginning to dim, the street lamp lighter quickly making his way down the street to illuminate the walkways around them. Pausing at the foot of the stairs, Javert wrapped his hand around her waist, pulling he closely as each attendant of the wedding wished their congratulations. Emile, Sophie, and Laura would not be returning home with them that night, instead paying a visit to Emile's parents' home for the week to allow Javert and his bride to accustom to life as husband and wife. Javert's parents would be returning to their home in Arres that evening, as well, and Azelma and Liviet would both be left to their own devices. There wouldn't be a person in the house tonight besides she and him, and, with a knot of agitation twisting through her stomach, she knew her day would be far from over by the time she returned home.

Shifting nervously as her sister walked up to her, Eponine pulled Azelma away for a private conversation while Javert was busy speaking with his parents.

"Be careful at home, won't you?" Eponine murmured, placing her hands on her sisters thin and frail shoulders. "Promise me that if you ever need anything you won't hesitate to come to me or Javert?"

Azelma nodded, though she was not really listening, her eyes wandering to where Officer Liviet stood some distance away with his arms crossed over his chest. She made a face, some expression mixed with curiosity, distrust, and vague observity as her careful eyes scanned over his lithe and muscled body. She had been taught well enough to avoid the gendarmes of any city, and the feeling would not be dispelled from her, even after her own sister married Inspector Javert. In conclusion, she refused to look at either officers without sincere distaste.

"Take this." Eponine said, placing a handful of franc notes into Azelma's hand. "And for God's sake keep it where no one will find it."

"Thank you." The younger sister murmured, pressing the notes into her bodice, still watching Liviet intently. "Eponine?" She murmured after a moment, cupping her sisters hand in her own and changing her line of attention to Javert.

"Hmm?"

"You're happy right? With the Inspector? It's not like he made you marry him, or anything like that?"

Eponine smiled and tucked a long, straying piece of yellow hair behind her sister's ear, watching her deep and unsheltered blue eyes as the reflections of the lamplight flickered in their depths like sapphire flame. Realizing that Azelma was no longer the little girl she had put a hand in raising in the slums, she felt a pang of sorrow. The blond haired girl had seen her own share of horrors and had probably experienced her own as well, and Eponine felt a happy sorrow trickle through her body like warm tears. In silence, she nodded solemnly to her sister's question.

"Give me a few months and I'll be happy." She said, following Azelma's gaze and looking at Javert, fondness slowly manifesting itself in her eyes. "He'll make me happy soon. I know he will, he has to. He adores me, and I. . . I think I may adore him. I hope that one day I'll wake up as much in love with him as I was with Marius." She said, almost bitterly, rolling her shoulders backwards like she used to do in the old days when they had often concocted heists together in order to earn a well needed meal.

"You don't love him anymore, then? Marius?" Azelma asked, her thin, skeptical eyebrows raising with surprise. For years their poor neighbor had been the only thing her older sister had spoken about, had thought about, had dreamed about. It was strange to see that she had escaped from the hold the young student had had over her, and even stranger still that she spoke of him with a fraction of coldness in her voice. She could not help but wonder what had finally swayed her mind to view her former love so disdainfully.

"No." Eponine whispered, darkly. "He belongs to the Lark. How could I love someone when he belongs to someone else?" Closing her eyes slowly, she sighed and intertwined her sister's slim fingers in her own, concentrating on the steady and iambic human pulse she felt against her own cold palm. "I love him, but only in the way I love you, sweet girl."

Azelma nodded, though she really did not understand, having never been in love herself, and both sisters watched as Liviet stepped up to Javert, a face of uttermost dreariness on his face, his entire manner oppressive and filled with melancholy. Neither girl wondered why the young man was acting so despairingly.

"I love her, you know." The weary man told his superior, folding his arms behind his back and blinking tiredly. Javert nodded, having suspected Liviet of his feelings since he had witnessed the awkward exchange between him and Eponine, and his back stiffened slightly as the younger man slapped him over the arm in a brotherly fashion. "Take care of her, won't you? She makes me miserable but I love her all the same. She is my everything."

"As she is mine." Javert muttered, nodding mechanically. "You have my word that no harm will ever find her. Not while I'm around."

"One man is not always enough, you know," He replied matter of factly. "Not with all the demons prowling everywhere these days. I'll be watching her, too, and the moment you slip up I'll be there to protect her. You can have my word on that for certain." He paused, mulling over his combination of jealousy and admiration for the man in front of him. "I'm glad you're there to watch her, though. No other man would be as suited to care for someone so wonderful. Hell, I don't think any other man would even be close to deserving her as much as you do. Especially not me."

Javert nodded again and, for the second time, Lestan clapped him over the arm before turning abruptly and slipping down the street past Eponine and Azelma.

"Lestan, wait a moment!" The older sister called to him. If any other person had shouted his name to him he wouldn't have payed the slightest attention to them, but, with a small, exhausted smile claiming his handsome face, he turned, addressing her with a kind and gracely air. "You're going home, aren't you?" She asked him, and he bowed his head slightly in affirmation. "Won't you see 'Zelma home, then? I wouldn't want to bother you but I don't want her walking alone at night." Not in the clothes she's dressed in now, Eponine added silently, not now that it's obvious she's a woman.

"Of course, young miss." Liviet replied, distantly.

"Are you feeling better, Miseour?"

"Quite." He said shortly.

Eponine felt a heavy arm wrap itself around her and she leaned into Javert's presence, watching silently as her sister led Officer Liviet down the empty walkway, chatting away while he remained as silent as the calmest moment after a thick and heavy storm. Everyone else had gone and there wasn't a person in the street to look disapprovingly at them.


	22. Chapter 22

"Go upstairs. I'll be there in a moment." Javert whispered in her ear, his cold, gloved hand lingering on the white fabric shoulder of her dress. In silence, Eponine gave a small nod, walking up the dark, dusty, and silent staircase alone and leaving him to himself on the ground floor. The upstairs hallway was dark and narrow, and she could only step down the small enclosure by narrowing her eyes at the shadows she saw around her and running her hands on the sides of the walls to guide herself in the gloomy blackness. Reaching the end of the walkway, she turned to her right and placed her hand over the doorknob, but then paused, resting her head against the cool and smooth surface of the closed oaken door. She had almost gone into her room out of habit.

The room that wasn't hers anymore.

Swallowing a dry feeling that was rising in her throat, she turned and stepped into Javert's room, her _husband's _room, she had to remind herself. It seemed even quieter in here and, to Eponine, the silence was unnerving. Singing softly to calm herself, she sat on the edge of his bed and kicked off her silk boots and stockings, though she did not stay in that spot for long. Like always, something about the window seemed to call to her and, after stepping over to the rectangular paned construction and drawing back the curtains, she bathed herself in the moonlight that fell through the glass, closing her eyes and letting the overwhelming quiet envelope her as her voice stopped in her throat. She stood there for a long while, the liquid effect of the light that was draped over her transforming her appearance into that of an ethereal being, her white dress seemingly blue in the smooth and creamy rays that danced around her porcelain shoulders.

Lost in a dreamy atmosphere, she jumped when a small scrape interrupted her moment's peace. Turning, she saw Javert crouched over the hearth of the fireplace, the lit match in his hand creating a single pinpoint of bright flame. Once a healthy sized specimen was crackling in the fireplace and flooding an atmosphere of inviting warmth around them, he sat in the black leather armchair beside the fire and contemplated her thoughtfully, like King Solomon atop his throne. After a prolonged minute, Javert beckoned Eponine over to him. Her skirts seemed to make an impossibly loud noise as she walked over to where he sat and, with a heavy hand, he guided her to the floor where she knelt on her knees as if she was on the altar again, wondering to herself what he was planning. His slim fingers circled the soft skin of her neck for a moment, the material of his gloves leaving a strange feeling over her pale collarbone.

Swallowing again, Eponine tried to banish the everlasting wave of anxiety that washed over her in cold currents as she awaited the inevitable prospect of what was to come next. His hands shifted to her head and, when he began to unravel the roses wound into her hair prettily, she breathed a sigh of relief, pain being delayed for a moment longer, and Javert mistook the noise for a pleased exhale.

"There were so many people around I didn't have the chance to tell you this afternoon, but you look very beautiful." Javert said, casually, placing the white roses in his hand on the arm of the chair and running his hand through her now free locks to smooth and straighten them.

"Thank you." Eponine murmured simply, letting him lean her head back into his lap so that his green eyes looked down at her and her own brown eyes looked up at him. The flickering fire light cast swirling shadows through the crystal pigmentation of his eyes, and she thought for a moment that perhaps she saw a glimpse of the affection he claimed he had for her in their swirling green depths, but, a moment later, whatever evidence she had seen vanished back into his usual stony stare.

Entranced by the steady rise and fall of her chest encased in her tight fitting gown, he dragged his fingers over the tops of her small, sweet breasts, watching with the intensity of a scientist observing a new found species as she gasped sharply at his touch, her pale lips parting with surprise. Though she tried to ignore her discomfort, she shivered slightly when he repeated the action.

"You aren't disgusted by your husband's touch, are you?" He said, his voice lilting in humorously toned sarcasm, though he was not joking.

"I'm. . . ." She paused, taking a deep breath. "I'm just nervous." Eponine confessed, closing her eyes as he began to run his hands through her hair again, almost comfortingly. "If I had slept with you when we weren't married, I think that would have been better. I was never meant to be somebody's wife, not with the life I've led, but the title of mistress would have suited me better. But it's different now. Doing that would have been something I was worthy of, but this, being married, being somebody's wife, it's different. It's as if there's more being expected of me, and I don't know if I can live up to that role, not with who I've been and what I've done. If I was your mistress, then I wouldn't have cared about what I was doing, I probably would have even enjoyed it, but now I'm afraid."

"Your fear is completely pointless." Javert stated, pulling gently on the dark tips of her hair with bored fingers. "If any woman deserves to be my wife, it would be you."

"Being your wife isn't what I'm afraid of." She barked, casting an irritated glance at him through narrowed eyes. "It's what being a wife is entailed with that's making me nervous."

His hands stilled as soon as he realized what she meant, and he cleared his throat before saying, his face even more unemotional than his normal expression, "I don't have a lot of experience with women, but I suppose that it is natural you feel nervous. Remember that I care for you, though. I have cared for you for a long, long time and I would never do anything to harm you if it could be avoided."

"Whether you care for me or not surrounding this aspect is inconsequential." Eponine said, matter-of-factly, her eyes falling to the white skirts of her dress with a blank and careful stare. "Even if you do or do not care for me, I would still experience the same amount of pain."

"Either way, I would say that you would have had more fear participating in carnal relations as a man's mistress than performing perfectly sinless acts with a husband."

Wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, Javert rested his head against her shoulder with closed eyes, searching for something to say that would alleviate whatever ill feelings she may possess. With a frustrated sigh and a furrowing of the brow, he found nothing he thought suitable enough for her agitation and he gritted his teeth with a heavy sneer, obsequiousness not being one of his good traits. Running his hands over the bodice of her dress, he dispelled the yearning to untie it and instead placed his lips over the cool surface of her pale neck. As she felt him kiss her there deeply, her eyes shut again and she knelt her head backwards, her breath quickening as she remembered what it felt like to have him constantly at her side. The moment they had become engaged he had ceased all of the usual conduct that took place inside his office, and she had forgotten the sinful excitement of all the activities they had participated in. The simple pleasures he usually granted her came back after weeks of suppressed absence, the lustful feelings he had often inspired in her returning with a ferocious intensity that made her enunciate his name in the same way she would a swear word. The moment the three sharp syllables escaped her, it was evident that something had changed in the air between them. Again, she began to feel the terrible aching need between her legs, the one that she had had to bear through bravely for months without an ounce of relief, growing in her until she was at her peak frustration at this moment, needing the release he could give her now more than ever. Her hand found its way to his legs, and Eponine gripped him there with her impossible strength, demanding silent commands to him that he understood without wasting a second to comprehend.

"I'll be gentle." He promised quickly, parting his mouth away from her neck for only a moment while he folded her easily into his arms and picked her up, carrying her miniscule body with ease.

"You're incapable of gentility." Eponine growled as Javert laid her back over his bed. He scowled at her tone and she scowled back, crossing her arms over her chest, creating a menacing form of posture with her small figure.

"How right you are." He said, his voice rough and heavy as he began to expertly unlace the back of her dress as her own fingers fumbled to tear away his cravat from his throat. After discarding the relatively minute piece of fabric from his person, Eponine's hands moved to the finely carved buttons of his slim fitting waistcoat, pulling the garment off of his shoulders as soon as she finished unbuttoning it. She began the steady process of peeling away his shirt when Javert made her pause to slip the lace sleeves of her gown off of her arms, working with her to slip the rest of the dress down her slim hips. Both of them paused their hasty undress as he took in the sight of her clothed in only the thin shift of her chemise, shorts, and corset that made up her undergarments. His eyes traveled over the cream skin of her legs and arms, glacial and haughty as he observed every detail of the parts of her he had never seen before. Scars were scattered over her legs here and there, rewards from various mishaps that had taken place in her youth, but he paid no attention to them. He had enough scars himself to be unperturbed by their familiar appearance.

"Going to stare all night, are we?" She said, saucily, grinning as she saw the effect she had over him in an attempt to overcome the hesitance that was quickly beginning to return to her. Silently, she began to remove his shirt again, carefully and slowly sliding it over his broad shoulders to view his bare chest in what little light was cast by the fire. She moved her hands towards the belt of his trousers, but stopped a moment later, the well toned muscles of his chest making her unnaturally still.

After a stunned silence between them both, Javert motioned for her to sit up, and she obeyed. As he began the tedious task of removing her corset, his hands moving painfully slow while he continued to undress her, she could not help but imagine Marius and Cosette's wedding. Without a doubt she knew that it would have been filled with gentle movements, soft caresses, sweet words whispered to each other, vows of love and adoration, and frequent apologies. Eponine knew very well that Marius was perfectly capable of gentleness, and she envied Cosette for the first time in weeks, not for having won the boy they had both loved with supreme affection, but for having experienced less pain than she would on their wedding nights. She quickly cleansed her mind of all thoughts of Marius, however. She was positive he had not spared her one thought on that February night that seemed decades ago, and she would not spare one for him either.

Dispelling her corset from the scene of his bed, Javert unbuttoned the thin, sheer fabric of her shift, and, a moment later, he was observing Eponine's undressed figure. Her face flushed as his eyes wandered over the expanse of her breasts and hips and all of the other inches of her flesh that he had never seen before, and he allowed himself to run his hand from the soft swelling of her chest to the flat plane of her abdomen where a thick scar stretched itself across her stomach. Tracing the white line with his thumb, through investigation he deducted that it was from the surgery she had underwent to remove the bullet from her body after she had been shot. Excluding this scar and the other faint marks that had begun to fade with age, he felt as if she could have been carved from marble by only the most skilled Greek sculptor, her beauty was so unmatched. Every breath she took made him ache a little more as her perfect body moved with a liquid fluidity, and, when he placed his hand on the inside of her thigh, he knew that she was feeling the same way as him when her eyes squeezed shut, her cold skin burning under his touch.

"You're so warm." Eponine murmured, placing one small hand against his back to bring his body closer to hers.

"You, too." Javert replied, moving his hand upward slowly, watching her face for a reaction as he slipped his fingers into her abruptly. He smirked when she inhaled sharply, her face flushing an even deeper shade of red when he began to give a small, almost evil laugh, his deep voice sending chills down her spine. Feeling the ever growing wetness where he moved his hand against her, he grinned when she twitched slightly and, when he jerked his hand upwards slightly to jab his fingers against her clit, she cursed a word of argot under her breath, a word in a language she had nearly forgotten. Moving his hand to the swelling of her endowments, he stroked his hand over one of her breasts and down to her waist, grinning wider when her skin prickled over with gooseflesh and she bit her lip. A slight sadist by nature, he moved his position on the bed and dragged his lips up over her leg, coming closer and closer to the pulsing world in between, getting slower every inch until Eponine felt the urge to scream from the madness of impatience and desire, her sex burning with a need for his presence within her. In an attempt to further aggravate her, just as his mouth was in reach of her womanhood, Javert pulled himself away from her, letting loose another slight laugh when she hissed angrily at him.

Pressing her back beneath him, she felt the hardness of his member pressing against her, their sexes separated only by the barricade of his trousers. Not ripping his intense eyes away from hers, he unbuttoned and slid the fabric of his pants down his muscled legs and, in the dark, she felt the hotness of him between her legs, erect with excitement, his body heavy and muscled. For the first time since that afternoon, he moved his lips over Eponine's, and she reveled in the moist warmth of his clean tasting mouth, even feeling brave enough to nip him slightly. Javert replaced his hand over her leg, holding her down fast to where she lay sprawled on the bed, and she shifted her legs open slightly, the juncture between aching and throbbing with anticipation. With her lips still buried into his, the pained noise she made when he broke into her were lost. The only thing she was able to register was the intense pain that stabbed through her like a hot knife. Eponine had been right in the premonition that he would be far from gentle with her, and any sensitivity he could have given her vanished the moment he felt her damp, tight flesh around him like a hot and sweet sheath.

His thrusting, at first, only created more pain and she had to force her eyes shut and dig her nails into the palms of her hand, creating tiny, crescent moon shaped marks in her skin. Before she had dug into her hands hard enough to draw blood, however, something about his motion changed. Separating her lips from his with a sharp gasp, her eyes flew open to meet his only inches away, Eponine staring at him in shock because she had just felt a fraction of something good amidst all her pain. She could feel him inside of her, still moving, thick and hard and swelling within her small body, and he moved his hands to her shoulders to press her against the bed, letting his mouth fall to her neck again so that soft, pleased noises escaped from her silver throat. He was heavy to the point where she felt as if she might suffocate, but both of their minds were preoccupied only by the immense pleasure that was growing exponentially for the pair of them. Acknowledging the growing moistness of her around him, Javert's thrusts began to become rougher and quicker and more determined as Eponine matched his movements, letting her fingers curl into the coarse fabric of the bed clothes as a greater experience began to build itself up into her core.

Each time he shoved himself into her further, he also slammed her into the mattress, his grip tight enough to leave bruises over her delicate, cream skin, and, when he felt her begin to tighten around him, he ordered in an impossibly cold voice, his eyes glinting arrogantly in the firelight, "Say my name."

"Arc-tur-_uuus_." Eponine moaned after several seconds of trying to collect enough air in her lungs to speak, and, the moment she murmured the last syllable of his name, she felt herself contract around his stiff member, letting him guide her into a state of both ecstasy and bliss. She said his name again, her volume matching the intense wave of her climax, and, as quickly as the feeling had produced itself in her, she felt him fill her up with his own finish, the hot fluid of his seed spilling into her body with a determined purpose as soon as she shouted his name for the empty house to hear. Though she could not fathom how he had the energy to do it, a moment later he began the same process again, and this time Eponine found herself enjoying it more, the fiery adrenaline racing through her veins dulling out any pain that would have remained, and her fingernails tore into the flesh of his shoulders and neck, adding to the pleasure racing through his person. In addition to the addition of pleasure for the both of them, their sex was even rougher, Javert forcing himself into her so roughly that her head banged against the wooden headboard of his bed. The warmth of his body on top and inside of hers, filling her up to the brim, the sound of his ragged breath as he plunged into her, and the sound of their flesh meeting in a sharp percussiveness, the feeling of his hands squeezing and twisting against her naked body, and the indelicate way he plunged and thrust himself into her all met in a hectic symphony of agonized satisfaction.

When Javert finally removed himself from her after finishing for the second time, Eponine felt sore and wet, her muscles aching and the combination of her own blood and the other liquids that had passed between them making her feel sticky and unkempt. She watched tiredly as he stood from the bed and pulled his trousers on again, also retrieving his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, and she likewise picked up her thin cotton shift from the floor at her side and slipped it over her head. When he sat back on the bed beside her still sprawled form, she was surprised when he took the small white square in his hand and began to wipe away the blood smeared in between her legs, forcibly removing the smears of scarlet from her cream skin. When Javert had finished his attempt to clean her, he laid back on the side of the bed she did not occupy, both him and Eponine realizing the utter exhaustion both of them felt.

After staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours, observing the flickering shadows there until the fire dimmed and then went out completely, she received another surprise when he pulled her over to him again. She was about to protest, preparing to debate that she was too tired to repeat the action again, but Eponine stopped herself when he only buried her face into his bare chest, his large hand cradling the back of her head. His clean and soapy smell was slightly different, his skin covered in a dry, salty sweat, but his scent still intoxicated her with a calm and lovely feeling.

They both remembered things, vivid images that were as shadowy as the room: a figure torn into agony on the stone railing of a bridge, a cold and almost unfeeling kiss in the dark, a few strange weeks spent in a hospital, a stony man and lonely woman's terrible, desperate, and unreturned infatuation, a fist plunged into a wall out of heartbreak, a blond haired policeman's blue eyes sad as he confessed all the source of his misery, a few unnerving red roses, and the final rendering of two souls to one another.

"Eponine?"

"Hmm?" She questioned with closed eyes, already half asleep, listening to his heartbeat, the uneven pulse still upset from the consummation of their marriage and beating rabidly.

"I adore you." Javert said, his voice husky and tired but still powerful.

"Mmm." She hummed, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards.

"Wife?" He said a moment later, his own mouth sloping into an arrogant smirk as the single word left his sharp tongue.

"Yes, husband?" In the dark, he made out the shape of her lips curving into a pretty smile, and he placed his hand over her waist, pulling her closer to him and watching blankly as she rested the cool, round surface of her cheek against his neck.

"I am so very glad you pulled me back from that parapet."

"Why, of course." Eponine muttered. "If I hadn't you would have never had the pleasure of meeting me."


	23. Chapter 23

Lounging on her side, Eponine rested her head against her arm, watching as Javert began to dress himself for the morning, blinking tiredly and burying herself further under the bed clothes as his haughty gaze observed her. Stifling a yawn, she shifted to lie on her stomach, covering the back of her head with her soft, white arms to block the sunlight that invaded the moments she could be spending asleep. She had fallen into a heavy doze quickly after they had consummated their marriage the night before, but she had become fully awake several times throughout the night to find her husband watching her peacefully, and each time she gladly participated in the acts they had previously committed, wonderfully finding more and more pleasure with every finish as the pain continued to subside and subside until it barely existed. She was sore, her muscles ached, and she was exhausted from deprivation of sleep, but she was also completely content with her current place in the world, and, for that, she was incredibly happy for the first time in a long time.

"Where are you going?" She asked him, her voice almost inaudible with drowsiness.

"Just for a walk."

"Even marriage can't tear you away from enforcing the law for one day, can it?" Eponine mumbled, her words barely recognizable through the muffled barrier the bed covers made against her speech. "You won't even be paid. Don't you care?"

"No." He said simply, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards for a second as if he meant to smile at her. "You shouldn't sleep in all morning, you know." Javert told her, buttoning his trousers and pulling out a crisp white shirt from his wardrobe. "You'll never be able to fall asleep tonight if you do."

"Have you stopped to consider that maybe I don't want to sleep tonight?" Eponine said, quietly, and, though he could not see her face, he knew she was grinning. Quickly, she turned to her side again to view him, a slight smile still spread over her pink lips. "Come back to bed, won't you?" She invited, sitting up so that he could see the outline of her chest barely covered by the thin, white expanse of her night gown, her dark, coquettish eyes beckoning to him silently.

Though he did not want to admit it, Javert was tempted. With a dejected sigh and a slight frown he found himself wandering back into her arms as she laughed at his weakness, though her pealing would be short lived. Eponine's laugh immediately stopped in her throat as he yanked up the skirt of her nightgown and thrust himself into her, the joyful noise interrupted by a mixture of desire and slight pain, turning her laugh into a silent choke in her mouth as soon as she registered the swollen warmth of his member within her. They were both incredibly silent while they moved against each other for what always felt like the first time, both of them refusing to make a noise and admit that the other had the power to make them do so. As their efforts became more and more hurried, Eponine's hands moved to his shoulders in an attempt to bring him closer to her body, and, when her body began to contract around his, she forget her stubborn silence and could not help but murmur his name a dozen times, those three sharp syllables seeming to her the greatest invented word in all of history, better than Augustus or Ceaser, Sirius or Alexander, Antony or Octavian. Arcturus was, to her, even more royal and conquerus than Marius.

His impossibly warm seed spilt into her just as she reached her own finish, and, with closed eyes, Eponine felt his large hands move from her chest to her legs to brush against the inside of her thighs, his fingers running over the dark stains of dried blood he had produced there the night before. His hand shifted and something cold pressed against her skin, startling her slightly, but it was only his wedding ring.

"You should take a bath." Javert suggested to her as he stood up and resumed his dressing, pulling on his waistcoat and tying the black cravat at his throat with an expert's grace.

"In a little while. First I'm going to. . . ." She trailed off, and Javert grimaced at her sentence cut off by sleep. Kneeling over her, he drew the dark curtain of her hair away from her face and off of her neck, allowing himself to genuinely smile as his eyes poured over his sleeping wife's delicate features, her chest rising up and down with an infallible peace. Her nirvana drifted to him momentarily, her beauty intoxicating him and the rough but gentle sound of her voice still ringing in his ears giving him a high, and he had to remind himself why he wasn't laying beside her now before leaving.

As soon as Javert's boot hit the uneven road outside, his intoxication immediately died. He strolled, walked, and ran the entire morning, and he was once again reminded of the plagues of life. Everywhere around him there was filth, crime, poverty, blood, and hatred, all boiled together in the core of the city of Paris in a deep and dank stupor of misery and degradation. His world may have been light for the past few months, but darkness still surrounded him and everyone else in the world like a suffocating cocoon. He had escaped it for a few months, and his liberation might last for the rest of his life so long as he remained enraptured by Eponine, but this would not stop him from constantly fighting the criminal forces that caused those very plagues, those creatures who dwelled in shadows and ravaged a possibly happy world without a glimpse of guilt. Remembering all of these things and his hatred for these creatures returning in a heavy flood, Javert found it impossible that he had smiled out of joy only a few hours before. He assumed a determined sneer as he looked on at the ignoration of law smeared over the streets to create a heavy and oppressive atmosphere, even now that summer made the stone beneath his feet as hot as flame.

In all reality, Javert knew that the world was a terrible place.

Unable to acknowledge time while he worked diligently to supervise his streets, it was nearly noon by the time he returned home. The house was incredibly silent and, stepping into the ground floor hallway and abandoning his jacket, the stillness and lack of life, though peaceful, began to unnerve him.

"Eponine?" He called, lithely climbing the wooden staircase after being unable to find her anywhere downstairs.

"In here!" He heard her rough voice shout from somewhere to his right. At first, he thought she was in the room she had previously occupied, and he stepped in the room to find it uninhabited. He turned to leave but, before he did, something unusual and alien caught his eye. Perched on the windowsill was a singular red rose, and, as he came nearer, he saw that its metals were crisp and dry, as if it had been laying there since last night or the night before. He found the wilting organism unusual since he knew there were no rose bushes in the back garden where he knew Eponine often spent time in. With a dry frown, he speculated that it could have been a gift from someone. The only logical candidate seemed Liviet, and he frowned at the thought. Before the boy officer had seemed tired and impassive when he had conversed about his feelings towards Javert's wife, accepting, albeit if not slightly weary, that he was not meant for Eponine. But now this flower presented a problem. Javert had witnessed many a level headed man slowly driven to dire acts by strange causes, he himself had changed substantially after realizing his affections for the girl who saved his life, and Liviet could be no exception.

However, for the time being, there was nothing besides confrontation that could be done, and even then a disastrous outcome might break out. Love rarely led to anything good.

"Women are so often the cause of war. . . ." He murmured to himself, turning the rose over in his hand. He could only resolve to keep an eye on his former subordinate and keep him and Eponine separated for as long as possible.

Observing for the second time that the scarlet petaled blossom was quickly deteriorating, he was able to draw himself some comfort. It meant that Eponine had either seen it and chosen to ignore it, for if she had wanted to prolong its life she surely would have placed it in a vase, or that she hadn't seen it at all. Both options gave him some relief.

"Arcturus?" She called again, and this time he recognized her voice as coming from the bathroom.

"One moment!" He said, loudly, searching for a way to destroy the object. Unable to find any method of disposal faster, he merely snapped the stem in two easily and tore the dry petals so that they crumbled in his large palms, opening the window in front of him and tossing the remains of the rose out as if ridding himself of a troublesome thought. Through his agitation, he did not notice a man clad in a black trench coat that hung down to his ankles leaning nonchalantly against the gate of the house across from his, nor did he notice the man pull something from his back pocket and run it over fingers lacerated with dozens of narrow scars.

Finding her submerged to her chin in the large porcelain tub, the warm water surrounding her making her skin rosy, Javert found more relief from the worrisome thing he had just discovered when Eponine smiled broadly at him. He nodded in return, and, bending his knees so that he could sit on the cool tiling next to her, he rested his chin against his hand and thoughtfully observed the way she looked when wet. Her hair, plastered and tangled, clung to her neck and shoulders, and her cheeks were slightly flushed, the soft pink hues highlighting her pale face. Viewing her unclothed body in full light for the first time, he dipped the tips of his fingers in the warm water before letting his hand sink into the water, ignoring the fact that the sleeve of his shirt was becoming increasingly soaked. Feeling her body slick and slippery beneath his fingertips, he could not help but let himself wander his hand over her breasts, stomach, and legs.

"If you do this all the time you'll get tired of me very fast." Eponine told him, gasping deeply when he drove his fingers in between her legs, her thighs jerking involuntarily as he twisted her flesh in a pleasurable fashion that almost hurt.

"Never." Javert stated, watching her face intently as she squirmed and fidgeted while he touched her. "You are mine. You belong to me. And as for me, I am yours. I belong to you."

"How. . . how reflexive." She said through deep breaths, throwing her head backwards as he dug his hands further inside of her. Her flesh already extremely sensitive from the warm water, she came quickly at his persistent touch, her eyes closed and her throat silent with concentration as pleasure washed over her.

Retrieving a bar of soap from the cabinet behind him, he cleansed her body thoroughly as she lay in an exhausted heap. Rubbing his massive hands down her legs and through her hair, he tended to her with an almost loving touch, both of them plunging into silence until he decided she was perfectly clean and healthy. Cooperating with him tiredly, she stood from the porcelain tub and he dried her wet body before placing her in the dress and other clothes he found laying a few feet away.

"Arcturus?" Eponine whispered as he buttoned the front of her gown with nimble motion.

"Yes?"

"You know, Marius never once noticed that I loved him, and, because of that, he made my life hell." She said, pressing her cheek against his broad chest and inhaling his smell. "Everyday I would wake up hoping to see him, and, at the same time, hoping he would vanish so I would never have to see him again. Every time he spoke to me he made me feel so completely happy and so completely horrible because I knew he would never want someone like me."

"Yes. I know." Javert said, patiently, frowning slightly at the mention of the student's name and cupping the back of her head with his hand almost possessively. In actuality, he knew exactly what she was speaking of. He had experienced a similar gloomy state in those long months where he had pined for her without her knowledge and she had pined for her Marius, almost completely oblivious or merely ignorant of his affections for her.

Wrapping herself in his arms, Eponine gave a shuddering sigh and closed her eyes, perhaps remembering things she did not want to remember. Enclosing herself in his warm embrace to block out those haunting memories of young men who stood devoted to books and pretty girls with long blond hair, she said, morosely, "If I said that I loved you, would you promise to never hurt me?"

"I promise, Eponine Javert, that I will never harm you in any way." He stated, determinedly, closing his jade eyes with a deep concentration. "I will never raise a hand to you, I will never deem you something insulting, and I will never force you to do something you do not want to. I love you, maybe more than you will ever know since I'm so unaccustomed to showing personal feeling, but I adore you infinitely. I would do anything for you, you need only ask. And if I do, you may punish me in any manner you think suitable enough. Refuse to touch me, to speak to me, to even grace me with your sight, and even that will not be enough for causing you harm."

A prolonged silence passed between the two while she contemplated his words and he stood awaiting her reaction with closed eyes. After an excess amount of stillness, Eponine threw her arms around Javert's neck with a new found energy, holding herself close to him as if afraid he would slip out of her fingers and leave her alone in the cold world. "Then, Arcturus, I love you."

Leaning forward and standing on the tips of her toes, she kissed him, her lips almost tentative against his. He was not smiling, Eponine had never seen him really smile, but his unusually warm eyes seemed to be doing something of the sort, their usually icy depths radiating with what appeared to be happiness and affection.

"I'm so ineffably glad, my dear." Javert said, his face as stony and wolfish as ever. Allowing himself to kiss her again, he wound his fingers through the collar of her dress, and continued, "So incredibly, ineffably, and completely glad."

Laughing, Eponine escaped the prison of his arms and slipped past him, running out into the hallway with bare feet, and raced into the parlor where he had spent hours watching her in secret, pretending to read, and where she had spent hours curled up by the window and dreaming of a boy she barely thought of now. Still laughing, she pulled open the blinds so that sunlight burst through the windows, filling the dim room with an impossible brightness and falling over her like the warm water she had just bathed in, shining against her hair and face to make her glow with an incandescent beauty.

"I love you, you love me! And we are married!" She exclaimed so that the entire, nearly empty house could hear. "Our lives!" She shouted as he appeared behind her, raising her hands above her head and twirling in a graceful circle. "Are perfect!"

"Yes!" He shouted in agreement, quickly trapping her in his arms again and pressing her against his broad chest to soften her excitement.

"Life," Eponine murmured, her voice quiet in an attempt to catch her breath."Is a very beautiful thing."

"Yes." Javert murmured back to her.

He held her, and she held him, and together they combined two perfectly logical philosophies. The world may be a terrible place, but life is still a very beautiful thing.


	24. Chapter 24

Though Eponine had been trying to gain his attention for some time, Javert refused to look up from the thick, black book of laws his eyes were darting over to pay her even the smallest glance. Unintentionally pouting, she narrowed her eyes at him from across his desk and leaned forward in her chair slightly, her hand twisting in her skirt absentmindedly while she waited for him to finally award her with a look. Though she knew he must be working in some way or another while he poured over his favorite reading material, Eponine could not help but try to distract him to entertain herself, despite the serious consequences that might result. In fact, she would revel in the consequences he dealt out for her. He never raised his voice to her, mostly because he knew that it would have no effect on her ears, and he had promised long ago to never harm her physically. She and Javert both knew very well there was only one way to vanquish her almost constant torment of him, and it was exactly what she sleeked at the moment.

Humming to further irk him, Eponine found herself drumming her fingers on the polished surface of his desk before picking up one of the quills there and, after giving it a contemplative look, she dropped it to the ground with a small smile. The other pens on his desk soon followed he rest and, when a litter of papers and writing utensils lay across the floor around their feet, she got up to sit comfortably over the desk top, her legs crossed, still humming. When she pressed the toe of her shoe against his lapel, she gained an ounce of satisfaction when he looked up at her, as if he had just realized she was there for the first time. Frowning at the mess she had created, he closed his book with a soft '_clap_' and, displeased, he folded his arms over his chest, an accidental sneer smeared across his face.

"I've work to do. I don't have time to play your childish games right now." He told her, opening his book of laws again. "And clean up that mess."

While the sunlight behind him cast her in a series of white gossamer rays that illuminated Eponine's entire silhouette, at the same time it cast Javert's own face in shadow, his back facing the window behind them. His dark face looked at her light one and an electric shock seemed to pass between them both, making her give a start and, though he showed no physical reaction, he sensed that something important had happened between them both. Frowning, Eponine banished the feeling between them from he mind and continued their conversation.

"I don't know why you would ever think of my games as childish, my love." She whispered, placing a singular finger on the corner of her lips, she pursed her lips, seemingly lost in thought, until, speaking brightly, she replied to his earlier demands, "I don't think I will." Before roughly grabbing his book away from him and dropping it to the floor with the rest of the objects there, inciting a deep scowl from him. Javert stood, fuming, before placing his hands on top of her thin legs and pushing down on them, making a small, airy noise escape her throat.

Barely more than a week had passed since their marriage, but it seemed to Eponine as if she would never grow tired of the sensation of his vast member coursing through her small body. Even now she yearned for his presence within her, and she would not stop until her yearning was momentarily put to rest. Her hand swept to the expanse of his leg and, feeling him react to her soft, faint touch, she smiled again, her eyes glittering like a nymph's as she felt his heat begin to expand beneath her hand.

"There are other people in the house again. We can't make love every time you feel like it." He hissed through gritted teeth, moving his own hand so that his thumb lay dangerously close to the junction in between her legs. Feeling a steady pulse begin its stride in her womanhood, Eponine's face flushed and his eyes quickly glanced down as her other hand clenched itself firmly around his wrist before the twin jade orbs found her face again. "It would be. . . rude." Javert murmured in her ear, his voice as thin as the weak sunlight filtering through the four paneled window behind him.

"You torture me." She sang, brushing her finger tips across the fabric of his pants so that she felt him stir beneath her touch again. In response to her teasing of him, he mirrored her actions and moved his own finger tips against the warmth of her slit buried beneath layers of fabric, earning a barely perceptible moan as he excited her further and further.

In response to his touch, she leaned forward and brushed her lips over his. Tasting the clean, delicate flavor of her mouth, a noise similar to an ache exited from his lips and into the air, and he wound his hands against her breasts, laying her body down over his desk. "Be quiet or you'll find my hand over your mouth." He threatened her, lifting her skirt up past her knees and pulling down the barrier of her undergarments. Eponine smiled, knowing that she had won their competition, just as she always did. She soon found that he had not been joking when he entered her roughly and a small noise escaped her mouth. He immediately clapped his gloved hand over her mouth to hide their improprieties, and, all throughout their love making, he was completely silent, an act which Eponine could simply not fathom as he raked through her inner walls with thrusts that were constituted of nothing but hot, sweet lust.

"Are you still upset with me?" Eponine asked him when they had both finished, clenching herself around his limp member as he exited her in an attempt to further aggravate him.

"How could I be?" Javert replied, his voice thick, heavy, and husky as he buttoned his trousers and reestablished her undergarments. "You've put me under some sort of sexual spell. As long as you pleasure me I couldn't possibly be angry with you. You're too much of a deviant." He said, sitting back in his chair and exhaling tiredly.

"And as long as I continue to anger you, I'll keep persuading you to let me pleasure you." Eponine said, looping their entire conversation as she slid off of his desk to sit in his lap, picking up his book from the floor so he could continue to read it, one of Javert's broad arms wrapped around her waist as she sat with him in a happy, satisfied silence.

When Azelma woke around noon time, she could not help but feel her gaze soften with sympathy as she eyed the man lying asleep beside her, his cheek pressed against her small breasts like a child at his mother's side. She did not know what had drawn her to the man's flat the night before, nor did she know what drew her to it the nigh before and the night before, and she specifically did not know why she had let herself sleep there. She herself had been shocked the night before when he had asked her to sleep with him, then quickly correcting himself and asking her to sleep _beside _him, with him in the same bed, but not with him as a man and woman. Even after his correction, Azelma was not going to allow herself to participate in such an intimate activity with a police officer, but, when the mysterious beauty of his blue eyes had slipped beneath her heart, she could not allow herself to tell him no.

She had lain beside him on top of the covers of his bed where he had been laying the entire evening she had been there, feeling awkward and uncomfortable. He had spoken to her about dismal things, his eyes closed, his breaths deep as if he was asleep. His deep, smooth voice had put her discomfort at ease, quickly. His words, though bleak and sad, gave her a peace of mind, a kind of sweet reprieve from the men she usually lay in bed with. He had made her feel safe, something that had not been done since the disappearance of her older sister, her former closest friend and main guardian. He had fallen into a heavy doze quickly, his hands curled by his hand and chest, not even daring to brush her body with any part of his in his gloom. Normally, she would lay awake for hours while trying to find sleep's embrace, but the gentle, temporary nirvana he had put her in swept her into a blissful escape from her terrible reality.

But, as she observed Officer Liviet while he slept, she felt an immense disgust of herself begin to grow in her. The source of her self disgust was not that the act of sleeping in the same bed with a man had made her any more impure, since she viewed even sex as a survival method. Azelma's sister may have remained a virgin until marriage, but Eponine had also always had a lot more pride than her younger sister. Azelma could not count the number of times she had slept with the baker's youngest son or the handsome, widower grocer so that they would toss her a loaf of bread or an apple every now and then. To her, it was no different than the reason why she had befriended the butcher's daughter. She did all she could to make sure she survived, even if it meant waking up after a sinful night filled with the consumption of large amounts of alcohol to a lonely man who happened to own some nice produce.

The true source of her disgust was that she had become just like her sister, if not worse. When she looked at the man beside her she felt only pity for him. At least Eponine cared for the Inspector, or at least she claimed to. Thinking of her once beloved sister, however, Azelma felt an emotion that seemed like a cross between bitter disappointment and huge dislike. Eponine who had betrayed her family and the men of the Patron-Minette and the rest of the citizens of Saint Michelle by marrying an officer of the law; Eponine who had escaped the slums and found something similar to happiness while they had all remained wretched; Eponine who had abandoned her younger sister to become little more than a common prostitute. In all honesty, Azelma could no longer bring herself to love the older Thenardier girl.

Sometimes, Azelma doubted whether or not Patron-Minette should even bother their attempt to 'rescue' Eponine. The girl who was barely more than a child knew that their plans would be for naught, that her father and the other men who devoted themselves to the complicated task would only be thrown back into jail if they didn't swing with a noose wrapped around their neck. And besides, Eponine had been so much more unhappy while living in the slums then she was now with her precious husband, a husband who she claimed loved her with infinite adoration. What was the point in thrusting her back into that unhappiness? Why even trouble themselves by remembering her? She had forgotten them all, hadn't she? They might as well forget her, as well.

For Eponine, a man had come, and a family had been left behind. The same thing happened with most women in time. Azelma could simply not understand.

Frowning, she narrowed her eyes to obliterate the tears that rose to her eyes when thinking on all of these things, running her bony fingers through Lestan's golden hair while he slept, using his soft locks as a comfort device.

All in all, she was very upset with her older sister, though none of these reasons were the main foundation of Azelma's anger. Looking on the man before her, asleep at her side, gaunt, depressed, devoid of almost all life, a man who had tried to commit suicide only several weeks prior to the time they were trapped in now, all because of Eponine. Eponine had set fire to this miserable man, he had told her. For months he had been the happiest man on earth, dreaming of the day when he would finally inform her of his love. But he had thought too highly of himself and had ended up being crushed beneath the heavy sole of a fearsome rejection. Ironically, Azelma thought to herself, it was the same mistake Eponine herself had made when she had fallen in love with Marius. She had waited too long to tell him, and, in the end, she had never old him at all.

Her sister had driven a man to despair and anguish and then, in the blindness her happiness and her husband had produced, she had left him to the terrible task of taking his own life. There was a time before when Eponine would never allow someone to end their life through suicide, and Azelma was the same. She pitied the man before her, just as she selfishly pitied herself in comparison to her sister. Maybe that was why she refused to let him escape from her sight for more than a day.

On most nights when she payed him her strange visits as she had been doing nearly every night for the past two weeks, he would listen to her speak as she sometimes tidied up his mostly empty flat. Other nights they would both just sit in silence, sitting on the hearth before his fireplace and boring their eyes into the heavy, dark flame, both of them feeling comfortable in the thick silence as long as they were united in it together. Though neither of them realized it, both Lestan and Azelma were ruined, either mentally or socially. For Lestan, his devastating heart ache had shaken him almost irreparably. He had not gone to work in days, feigning chronic illness, and he had not left his house twice since the girl he had adored from a distance had married his colleague. For Azelma, the sinful things she had resorted to since her sister had abandoned her to fend for herself had ruined her. Though neither her mother nor her father had realized it, it was no secret in the slums that she was no longer one of the mostly innocent girls that provided a real rarity in Saint Michelle. She highly doubted any man would ever take her as a wife and it was highly likely that only two possible futures were in store for her; death, or, an even worse circumstance, prostitution.

Through this ruin, an invisible strand of black thread had tied the two demolished people together. Though they did not know what it was, they had unconsciously sensed a connection between them both and had, out of all the other millions of people in the world, clung to each other desperately, knowing somewhere in their minds that the other felt what they felt, saw what they saw, and heard what they heard. They were each shy, tired, and much, much older than they appeared. For this reason, they had each vowed to themselves without even recognizing their vows that they would protect and watch the other carefully. It did not matter that one of them was a criminal and the other a police officer. They were simply two souls knotted together through mutual need. Who was it that tied them together is the only question that remains.

Right now, sensing his possibly fatal distress, Azelma was keeping an especially close eye on Officer Liviet. As he shifted softly in his sleep, she quickly tore her hand away from his hair so he would not catch her touching him, watching distantly as Officer Liviet blinked his pretty, fluid eyes open, taking in her appearance with no emotion whatsoever. Just as exhausted as he had been the night before, he closed his eyes again, his head still resting against the warm expanse of her chest.

"You're still here." He said, his voice rough with drowsiness as his finger tips brushed the thin fabric of her blouse, his hand quickly stealing away from her waist as he realized what he was touching.

"I'm still here." She said to him, her own voice roughened from the alcohol she so often drank.

For a longtime he was silent, and Azelma thought that he had fallen asleep again, but when she gave a weary sigh he opened his eyes again to look at her.

"It's nice having someone so near you in the morning." He whispered, almost as if he was too shy to speak any louder. Still too tired to keep his eyes open for a long while, he closed them again, and Azelma had to restrain herself from placing her cold, grubby hand over the smooth, clean skin of his face. "Their presence, their smell, their warmth, the sound of them breathing, the sound of them shifting against the sheets, the way you open your eyes in the morning after a terrible night and realize that you're not by yourself. It's so much less. . . lonely."

"I know." She said, her words just as sad and shy as his. "I know." Little Azelma repeated, abandoning any tentativeness she may have possessed before and placing her hand over the white, silken texture of his cheek.

"I hate. . . I hate feeling this way." Lestan told her, unusually talkative that morning. "The worst part is that I know it's pointless. I was stupid to think she would ever care for me, so completely deluded. But I can't force myself to forget anything, especially her."

"I know. I know, Miseour." She murmured, gliding her thumb over the surface of his face. Seeing a faint mark the grime on her hand had made on his flawless skin, however, she withdrew her hand, her face softening with slight sorrow. "What if I tried to make you forget, Miseour?" Azelma asked him suddenly, her icy blue eyes slipping to his as if she had just discovered a life changing principal for the world. "We could run away to the country, you and I." She continued, excited. "We could leave this entire miserable city behind us. It wouldn't matter who we are or what we've done! We could, we could-!"

"No. We couldn't." Lestan said, coldly, but truthfully, instantly deflating any hopes she may have had for the moment. "You know we couldn't. It's ridiculous to even say that."

With a small groan, he sat up, stretching his arms somewhat wearily before standing and swaying on legs slightly weak from an unaccustomed lack of use.

"You should go out." Azelma said, observing his tottering posture somewhat disdainfully, resting her chin against her hand. "Stretch your limbs. Eat something. I don't think you have any food left. We could go out to the market." She suggested, following his suit and sitting up, swinging her legs over the edge of his bed to rest her tiny feet on the cold floor. He looked at her, cynically, and she had to force herself to suppress another sigh. There he was, unwilling to go out without her, but unwilling to be seen with some raggedy slut of the slums. "I'll walk behind you so no one knows we're together." She added, and he gave a nod of consent.

He always reminded her, though she never really forgot, that, though they had formed a strange sort of intimacy with each other, there would always be a social barrier between them both. They may both be misery, but she was crime and he was the law. The two could only mix through miracles, and the only miracle of the sort had already taken place, to two other people. It was not likely to happen again, and neither of them had the courage to create the miracle themselves.

Montparnasse was cold, angry, sad, and, most of all, insane.

"You promised me!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, wielding a blood stained knife at the King of Criminals now cowering in the corner. "You promised me, Thenardier, that she would be MINE!" The young mad man bellowed, giving the man a harsh kick in the ribs, the whimpering, dog like noise Thenardier made only further adding to Montparnasse's furiosity. "And now that bastard Inspector has bedded her and everything is ruined! You PROMISED me!" He sobbed, and, for the first time, the hideous man in the corner noticed the harsh tears flooding down the young man's face, a storm of salty heartbreak. If he was capable of feeling guilt, Thenardier would have felt it at that moment.

Montparnasse kicked the man for a second time, though the sported violence did nothing to quell his anger.

"Now, 'Parnasse," The victimized man defended himself, using the other man's shortened name in an attempt to soothe the utter madness ravaging itself in the boys mind. He had tried to hide the secret of his daughter's marriage to Inspector Javert for as long as he could, but the news had somehow been leaked to the handsome young man, and now he was paying the price for it. _We should have left his sorry ass in prison to rot like the filth he is deserves, _he thought to himself, bitterly, wrapping his hands around his head to shield him from inevitable future blows. "A simple solution can easily be obtained here." He said, peeling open his blackened eyes to to look at Montparnasse's young, pretty face, blotched red with a terrible anger. "As soon as we kill the bastard Inspector we'll take back Eponine and then you can marry her."

"But he's already touched her!" He exclaimed, waving around his jagged shank wildly in frustration and desperation. "I know! I went there! I _HEARD _them, I heard _THEIR _voices! I heard her _VOICE _at night, saying _HIS _name!"

"But remember, 'Parnasse, you've touched her plenty of times yourself, and she's said your own name plenty of times before, as well!" Thenardier shouted for his appeal, almost as if he was pleading a heartless judge to spare his life in a hopeless trial. As he watched with a deep, animalistic alarm, he realized that his cleverly crafted lie had been taken as the truth, the young mad man instantly calming, the redness of his face disappearing to settle into his usual, charming flush.

"I've. . . touched her myself? I have?" Montparnasse asked himself, aloud, running one sweaty palm through his pretty, damp curls. In the gloomy darkness of the handsome man's apartment, Thenardier had to strain his eyes to make out the image of Montparnasse's own eyes narrowing with concentration while he tried to sort out his impossibly heavy and disorganized thoughts. "I have." He told himself, confidently, his hazy mind formulating fake memories in an instance. "I have." He repeated, clenching his fist with a suave arrogance, formulating that the bastard Inspector's wife had been touched by him long before he had had the chance to, even though Eponine had been completely and utterly pure on her wedding night.

"Yes, you have," The dog like man persuaded him, carefully standing with caution and cradling his bruised ribs. "And you will again soon. We just have to-"

"Kill the bastard Inspector, then take back 'Ponine, and I can marry her." He finished, his chest heaving with a rabid, terrifying breath that frankly made the other man want to cower back in the corner again. "And she'll be mine. All mine. Always mine. For forever. Nothing will part us. Not even this. And if it does, it would be better to be united in death than parted in life. _If all else fails, I myself have the power to die._" He whispered, reciting one of his most treasured lines from one of his most treasured literary pieces, wrapping his arms around his chest and dropping to the chair behind him, closing his eyes to examine new dreams and possible images that floated to the surface of his skull to drift in the dank air around him.

"Exactly. Good boy." Thenardier said, patting Montparnasse over the head like a faithful hound and slipping past his slim form to stand in the doorway that would ensure his separation from the mad man and the safety that would come along with it. "We'll do it soon. I promise. And then she's all yours."


	25. Chapter 25

**So I'll be honest. I really, really don't like this chapter, which is why I waited so long to update it. In fact, I _really _don't like it. I barely put any effort into it and pretty much combined two topics that have virtually NOTHING to do with each other into one, lazily developed 4,500 word piece of hobo blanket paper. **

**And, I've got some good news and bad news. First the bad news: Theis story is almost over which is, to me, both a relief and a stab in the heart because I've had a lot of fun writing this for the past six months. But it's really a load off my shoulders the moment I get it done. Now the good news: I am trying to scrap together a new plot for another Les Mis story but so far all I've got is: Eponine is in high school and Javert is her parole officer. FACEPALM. Somebody please hit me over the head with an Audrey Hepburn poster. Right. Now. **

**Alright I'm done with this insanely long author's note. Hope you like this chapter more than I do.**

**TTFN, my readers.  
**

* * *

Weeks commenced, quiet, normal, and event less. Neither Javert nor Eponine worried about scarlet roses left on windowsills during the night, nor was any communication made between them and Lestan de Liviet, who, it was said, was suffering from a chronic illness which prevented him from working. Javert spent days watching his streets diligently, and Eponine spent days trying her best to read several of the thinner novels on his shelf while she waited for the hours which separated them to pass and die. Nearly every night was filled with him pressing her against the surface of his bed and thrusting into her until his name fell damply from her moist lips, her voice hushed with breathlessness as he ignited the darkest of fires in her soul. Afterwards, they would lay in an empty silence, her warm body pressed against his chest as he held her to him a little too tightly, preventing her from moving just an inch away from him as if afraid she would slip away from him.

Despite the simple bliss she was experiencing, Eponine had not been feeling her best a few months following their marriage, although Javert did not become aware of her ill health until she promptly leaned over during breakfast one day and vomited on his shoes.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She apologized, her face ashen, clutching the side of her temple as if trying to nurse the persistent pounding there. "I'm so sorry." She repeated, silently cursing herself. She had kept the secret of her sickness from him for as long as possible, hoping it would subside by itself to remain nothing but a haunting memory, but now she had no choice but to confront her illness along with him.

"That's alright." Javert said with a heavy exhale, throwing his napkin over his plate as he stood. "I needed new boots anyways. I'll call for a doctor."

He watched with a set expression as a balding man with thick spectacles examined his wife, listening distantly as the physician asked Eponine question after question, none of which he himself paid attention to. As the man placed his hand over her neck to observe her heart beat, Javert tensed slightly, not liking the image of another man touching her, and he grit his teeth to control the amounts of distaste that absorbed him. Words fell from both Eponine's and the Doctor's lips, but he did not hear them, his icy eyes still trained on the man's hand as it moved from her neck to her abdomen and vaguely thinking that he would probably be late for work again. After some time, the balding man smiled gently at Eponine and, taking her hand in his, he said, "Congratulations, my dear. You're going to be a mother."

Feeling the blood drain from her face, she stared at him as if he had just claimed she would die within the hour.

Growing up with four younger siblings, the majority of which spent most of their waking hours screaming at the tops of their lungs as they cried and sobbed for comfort that was continually denied to them, Eponine had never been fond of children, nor had she ever wanted any of her own. The only exception she had drawn for herself was, if Marius had ever miraculously fallen in love with her, she would willingly give him a child at his whim. In the short lived time from her youth to the time when she had begun to live with Javert, her agonizing thinness had only failed to prevent a handful of bleedings from coming, and she had been vastly thankful for that. It meant she would probably never have to worry about bearing a child. And, although her courses came somewhat regularly now that she ate on a daily basis, only ever skipping a month at a time when they did, she still did not think herself capable of becoming pregnant, even with Javert taking her at least several times a week.

She had visioned herself something like Sophie in the past few months. Childless, dreaming of what might have been, but still happy and content while sleeping in an adoring husband's warm embrace each night. She would never have to go through the trials and tribulations of being a mother, she would never have to go through the agonies of childbirth, nor would she spend countless sleep deprived nights tending to some crying creature that frankly disgusted her. Now that vision was ruined, and she stared at nothing in particular, her whole being, heart, body, and soul, supremely aghast. Maybe, Eponine thought to herself bitterly, even the tiny life within her was somewhat surprised at its own existence.

Likewise, Javert himself was caught off guard as well. He knew the natures of women very well, and, before he had married her, he had easily concluded that Eponine would probably not be able to bear any child of his. She was too small and slight for that. And, if she was ever able to conceive, it would probably be many years from now, after hundreds of rough nights spent awake in their bed with her running her hands through his hair and digging her nails into his flesh, not after a short two months. He had sacrificed the continuation of his name for her willingly, as his parents had no other children, deciding that the filthy blood of a gypsy fortune teller and a galley slave was better off not being continued in the first place to mar the highly regarded house he came from, and, anyways, he had never liked children. They were loud and rude and prone to law breaking, though he was sure no offspring of his would ever dream of disobeying even the slightest rule.

Now Javert stood in complete stillness, refusing to show that he was surprised, speechless while imagining what this news meant for him and his wife.

"What?" Eponine asked the doctor, recovering from her shock only enough to pronounce her words in a miniscule volume, her eyebrows still arched in disbelief. "No, that's not possible, I-"

"But it is possible." The doctor interrupted her, an unintentionally rude man by nature. "You've been with child for nearly two months. I'm surprised you didn't know yourselves by now."

Seeing that she was not pleased like all of the other woman he had dealt with, the man stood and looked at her with a quizzical expression, though he shook his head a moment later to abandon the feeling. She was Inspector Javert's wife, after all. Abnormality should and was to be expected. He hadn't even known the stoic and terrifying man had been married before now. With a stiff downward slope of the lips, he could not see how he had secured such a pretty specimen either, though he shrugged his frown off a moment later. Perhaps it had been an arranged marriage. "I think it would be wise for us to speak in private for a few moments." He said, seriously, and Javert nodded, letting his hand linger on Eponine's shoulder, suggesting a faint attempt to soften her disbelief in some way, before he led the man to his office.

"Because she is so thin," The man began, absentmindedly twisting his hands together. "There will be some complications with the pregnancy." Solemnly taking a seat at Javert's desk, he continued. "Some. . . may be highly serious." Javert nodded, unable to bring himself towards speech, and the man continued. "She may not be able to hold the child long enough for it to be completely healthy, or she could lose a substantial amount of blood during birth. Or, since she weighs so little, there is a high chance that she may deliver a stillborn."

"I see." Javert said, giving another slight nod. "What can be done then? Should she be bed ridden?" He grimaced, imagining the complaints and protestations he would receive from her if she did indeed need to be bed ridden.

"Not until later in the pregnancy." The doctor said with officialism. "For now make sure she eats well and doesn't catch cold or any other illness. And keep her away from anything that may present a problem or stress factor. Stress often causes great problems for a child in the womb." As his last sentence left his mouth, the man wasn't even sure Inspector Javert had heard him. "It is highly unlikely that both mother and child will survive. It is a case of one or the other, I'm afraid."

Hearing a soft click on the other side of the room, as if somebody had accidentally turned a doorknob partially while leaning against the wall beside it, Javert knew that his wife was listening at the door.

"I understand." He replied, blankly, and the doctor frowned at his lack of care. Many men didn't worry themselves so much about the health of their wives, especially since women could easily be replaced, so that was understandable, but if a possible son's life was at stake he would have expected the man to show at least an ounce of concern. But, then again, _this was Inspector Javert. _Rumor had it that the only emotions the cold, supernatural being was able to expose were anger, disgust, and arrogance, though, on a few short occasions, it was said that he had once found pity in his heartless body and demanded his subordinate to release some beggar girl he had arrested.

When the doctor had gone over several other important matters and finally left, Javert slumped over his desk, burying his head in his hands and trying to acknowledge the fact that he was unable to come up with an excuse to soothe his concerns, though he honestly knew that he was far from being concerned. In truth, he was experiencing a deep and foreboding terror, something he had never felt before, not even when his own life had been in danger.

He had only just gained his happiness. Was it to be taken away from him so soon?

Javert sat in mental torture, his hands folded around his neck, the silence he was buried in seemingly menacing compared to those moments of speechless peace he ad spent with his wife curled at his side in the night. Swallowing his fear, he murmured a prayer to himself, long lost words his mother had taught him as a child of which he could barely recall. He had not spoken to God in a long time. At one point in his life, while observing the piteous states of the world and the filth that inhabited it, he had scoffed at the idea of any god. Now, he forced his eyes shut and concentrated on this one way conversation, hoping in vain that somebody would answer him with a promise. Though he knew it was useless, he was drowning in hope. He hoped Eponine would live the remainder of his life, he hoped nothing malice found its way into their lives, he hoped, although he knew he was being ridiculous, that this whole ordeal was only a dream and that he would wake up any moment, and, last of all, when he was reminded of it, he made a small addition to the thought of their child. Now, however, the child was on the bottom of his list of priorities. The thing he feared for most of all was Eponine.

"I don't know why I didn't tell you before." A voice said across from him, and Javert looked up to see her sitting across from him, almost as if she had been summoned to him from his thoughts, her arms wrapped around her knees and her chin tucked away against her legs, grimly. He hadn't even noticed she had come in. "I suppose I was just trying to convince myself that I wasn't."

It was true that she had unconsciously suspected herself of being with child. She had known, perhaps, since the moment of her child's conception that something vast had changed about her. Eponine had simply refused to acknowledge it, disregarding her thoughts while thinking that it would be far too much of a miracle if she became pregnant after only two months of marriage.

"You knew, then?" He said, quietly, his eyes glinting almost dangerously with a furiously cold ice. "You knew that you were with child before now? And you didn't tell me?"

"I was afraid." She defended herself, making his anger vanish immediately as he saw the emptiness and isolation in her eyes, that same sad phantom that had wandered his hallways for several of the winter months during the previous year having returned in an instance. "I'm still afraid. That man said I could die."

"He didn't say that." Javert barked, grabbing her hands roughly from across his desk and staring at her with a fierce determinism. "You will not die. Neither of you will die. I won't allow it. I've protected you this long, and I promised to myself that I would never let you find yourself in harm's way. I step outside and there is poverty everywhere. Poverty and theft and disease and prostitution and the gradual wasting away of a soul and body until nothing remains, not even a life. But I promise that nothing will ever harm you."

Standing, he slipped past his desk to envelope her in his arms, creating a secure and comforting prison around her while pressing his lips to the top of her head. In response, Eponine curled her hands to the chest of his uniform, fearing that, if she let go of him, she would fall to the ground on her knees.

"That man," She muttered, pressing her forehead to her chest. "He also said that you would have to choose between me and the child, that both of us wouldn't be able to survive. If that's really true, who-"

"You, of course!" Javert snapped, frowning while running his hand through her wave of soft, dark hair. "What's a child to me but a nuisance." He further ensured her, his voice softening as she clutched to him desperately, almost like a lost child of the aristocracy on the streets, cold, alone, and in a severely alien world from the conditioned paradise they so often took for granted. "But I will do everything within my power to ensure that that choice is never made. Ever." Pulling himself away from her slightly so that he could look into her pale, frightened face, he said to her, "You should lay down for a while to calm yourself. The doctor said that stress could make you more ill. Come on, I'll sit with you for a while. I'm already late for work, what's a few more minutes?"

Nodding consent, Eponine closed her eyes wearily as he picked her up, carrying her with supreme ease to their room. He passed Sophie's wordless form in the hall, and it seemed, by the dreary expression on her face, she was already aware of all painstaking troubles that had manifested themselves within her masters' house that morning. He nodded to her curtly before opening the door of his room, sending her already gloomy face into a picture of utter oppressiveness. He sometimes forgot how attached the other members of his household were to the girl he had picked as his wife, and he felt a wave of guilt begin to stain him. It was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, that this predicament had been produced. It was his seed, after all, that had sired the child that may end his companion's life.

"A child. . . ." Eponine murmured as he laid her back over the bed, laying beside her with a heavy sigh and brushing the her dark bangs away from her eyes. Her dark eyes staring emptily at the ceiling, she continued. "It's an entire other human being. Even if I live, _and _it lives, can I do that? Can I give birth to a human being? My God, do I even have the right to be a mother? I'm not an imbecile, I-" Feeling a lump rising in her throat, she choked while trying to swallow it and speak at the same time. Giving a slight shake of her head, she began her terrified reverie a moment later, having recomposed herself enough to speak. "I know I've led a terrible life. I could do something terrible to the child, as well. What if, what if I don't raise it right? What if it's miserable because of me? I could be just like my mother!"

"Stop it." Javert ordered her, clamping his hand over her arm to calm her from her rave. With a growing frustration, he looked for a way to relieve her of her fears. He could hold her, as he usually did when she was upset, but that didn't seem to be enough for this situation. He was a man of silence, but she was a woman of words, and he knew he had to bring himself to speak to assuage her troubles. "You've just proven that you understand this child will be a human being. You've led such a miserable life that you know quite well what human beings like done to them, and you know very well what tears them apart. If we strike this child, then we will explain what it did wrong and apologize. We will speak to it often, reminding it who it is and that it is the product of a relationship formed out of love, and we will raise it to have the same understanding of the world that we do."

"I see. . . ." Eponine sat up and, entwining her clammy fingers in his, she stared at his closed eyes and perfectly groomed red hair with vibrancy alight in her brown depths, her pupils focusing somewhat distantly on the graying hair at his temple. He had seemed almost younger in the past few months, his happiness bringing back some of his lost youth, but now Javert looked as worn and tired as when she had first pulled him back from his death by the back of his coat. With a soft, shuddering sigh, she closed her own eyes slowly. Dozens of thoughts whirled behind her closed lids, none of which she dwelled on for long, one main disturbance making her want to twist herself in the sheets and vanish. He had been happy, she had given him happiness for a while and he had given her her own joy, but now both of their bliss was gone. "Arcturus?" She whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear her.

"Yes?" Javert said, his jade eyes opening the instance she said his name, his grip tightening on her hand as if to reassure that he was still there.

"Do you still love me?" She asked him, shifting to her side so that the tiny prospect of their child lay in between them both, a miniscule heartbeat lost somewhere inside her womb.

"Always" He answered, entrancing her with the simple movement of his lips as he muttered that one, unforgettable word.

Before she could say anything else, a sharp knocking fell into the room, a timid fist grazing against the oaken material that barred them from the outside world. Standing, Javert commuted reluctantly from where he lay at his wife's side to answer the door.

"A letter, Monsieur." Emile said, holding up a slim envelope with a neat black script scrawled over the front. "Just delivered from the house of a Baron Marius Pontmercy."

Hearing her inhale softly all the way across the room, he grimaced before taking the letter, murmuring a thanks to Emile before closing the door a moment later.

"One letter addressed from Baron Marius Pontmercy," Javert read aloud, taking the letter back to her side and laying down with even more exhaustion. "Addressed _to _Eponine Thenardier in the care of Inspector Javert."

Frowning at the mention of her former name, he opened the letter and held it aloft, her hand easily taking the slim and neatly folded piece of parchment out of his hand in a snap. He wouldn't even bother himself that morning by reading it as well. He already knew exactly what it would say.

"They want an audience with me, Marius and Cosette." Eponine told him after a prolonged moment of silence. "And you." She added, though they had not included him in their invitation. "At our earliest convenience. It says they're waiting for a reply." Her quiet words hung in the air for a while while she waited for him to speak, and, when he finally did, she felt as if every word that issued itself from his mouth was of utter most importance.

"It would be polite to see them both." He told her, ignoring his deep loathing of the man whom he had never met. "But, if you would prefer it, you could simply not reply." He added, the inflection of his voice tilting upwards as if to suggest a question. The moment the topic of Marius had drifted into the air, just like the few other times it had happened between them, he sensed an immediate feeling of alarm. He was reluctant to the idea of her seeing the boy who had caused her such misery before, and he quickly began constructing several ideas to persuade her to not meet the young man again.

"What do you mean?" She asked him, her brow furrowing as if she meant to scowl as her hand crumpled around the letter and fell to her side. "If seeing them would be polite, then ignoring them would be rude. It's not only rude, but cruel, too. The letter says that he's concerned about me. That's why he wants to see me. Why should I let someone worry about me when I'm perfectly healthy?" She had meant to go on, but the moment the word 'healthy' left Eponine's mouth her voice stopped with a choke. In her flourished excitement, she had almost forgotten the monstrous fact that she wasn't perfectly healthy. "He's my friend." She added in a childlike voice, making a flicker of irritation ignite itself in him.

"May I remind you," Javert began, sharply, his voice devoid of any of the warmth and comfort it had given her only minutes before. "That if anyone is cruel or ignorant in this case it would be Baron Pontmercy? After all, it took him over a year to finally bother to write to you." He lied, remembering the other letter he had received from the young man months before, the same letter that he had burned for fear that the other man would somehow separate Eponine from himself. "And then, he addressed you by your old name. He probably doesn't even realize you've been married in the past year when we were both quite aware of he and his wife's union and the death of Madoimeselle Pontmercy's father. They have both treated you with utter obliviousness, so why trouble yourself by meeting with them?"

_"Because," _She hissed at him, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling like the slum girl he knew she still was inside. "He is my friend, and I am his. Friends may be cruel to one another occasionally, but that is no excuse to continue any ill treatment." She paused, her eyes thoughtful, but her eyebrows were still bent with annoyance. "You needn't be jealous or worried or whatever may be going on in that head of yours. He is my friend, a dear friend, really, but you are my husband."

Javert gave her a disdainful look, crossing his own arms over his chest and frowning at her, and, in reply, Eponine gave him a smart punch to the arm. For a long while he was silent, his face grim and disapproving of this childish behavior, until he slapped his hand over his arm and narrowed his eyes at her, saying, defeated, "Damn, you're aim is getting better!" His lips curled upwards while she began to laugh, allowing himself to smile while her eyes were closed in her hysterics, and, when her pealing died down after several minutes of her clutching her abdomen, her face breaking into a grin, he began to speak again. "Fine then. We'll see them both, you and I, if that pleases you."

She nodded consent, looping her arms around his neck and laying down before closing her eyes again so that she could immerse herself in his scent. Her lips strayed against his skin, and she felt the coolness of Javert's gloved hand rest itself against her waist, Eponine sighing as he did so. Burying her head in the crook of his neck, she pressed her cheek against him somewhat forcefully, her entire person refusing to release him from her grasp. If she died, he would be the one losing her, but she could not stand the thought of being lost from him, not when she had only just found a promise of happiness. She knew Javert would do everything in his power to keep her in his life, whether his threats may be an unborn child or a handsome young man, and she silently vowed to do the same.

Eponine would not be parted from the only man to love her in her entire life so soon.


	26. Chapter 26

Eponine, perfectly aware that she was being severely scrutinized by nearly everyone in the room, suddenly lost any appetite she may have had that evening and set down her fork, staring at the food in front of her while others stared at her herself. There was a time in her life where she would have sold her soul to have the food in front of her, but she could simply not eat while being observed like an animal in a zoo. The old man and aging woman, Marius' grandfather and spinster aunt she had been told, seemed to be paying the most attention to her, watching her as if she was some strange oddity. In addition, she could also feel the eyes of Marius and Cosette watching her, their gazes quickly falling to the attention of other things whenever her brown eyes flitted upwards to meet theirs. The only person in the room who didn't appear to be staring at her intently was the man seated next to her, his green eyes fixed boredly on the food in front of him. It was evident that, by paying him even the slightest glance, he was completely unhappy with the current situation, his stony, heartless sight occasionally finding its way to the young baron seated across from him.

Eponine would not have minded the four pairs of eyes fixed on her so much if the entire room hadn't been the essence of gloom. She had never known Marius to where anything but mourning black, but now the rest of his family was wearing it, as well. The color suited his lovely features well, and his aunt seemed perfectly accustomed to the gloomy shade, a sad woman by nature, but neither Cosette nor her grandfather-in-law seemed to look well in it. Focusing on Cosette, she decided to herself greatly that putting the lacy and feminine swan in such a dark color was a shame. She was pretty now with her magnificent eyes and her yellow hair, but she would seem even more beautiful in silk or satin dresses of blue or pink. What Eponine didn't know was that, after the death of Cosette's adoptive father, Marius had demanded that his entire family wear mourning black in honor of that great and humble man who had touched them each in a separate way.

Sighing and sending a sorrowful gaze to the ceiling above her head, it seemed to Eponine that even the chandelier above her head seemed to be frowning, its lights dimmed so that it cast only a weak light over the dining room table below it.

"Why are you all staring at me?" Eponine finally asked the room, finding courage to speak after long minutes of painful silence, looking at each person around her in turn with a curious expression upon her face.

Making an unamused face, the grandfather looked at her openly before saying, his voice clear with intentional inconsideration, "You just look so-"

"Different." Marius finished for him, likewise setting his silverware down on the table in a signal that he had finished eating. "But you look as if you're much more healthier the last time I saw you. It's good that you've gained weight. It's not good to be as thin as you were."

She murmured a thanks to the boy who had formerly been the owner of her love, her eyes dropping to her stomach where the slightest bump was beginning to show beneath her gown. Javert had been right in the prediction that neither Marius nor his family knew of their marriage, and his boyish mind was still probably far away from jumping to the conclusion of a pregnancy. It seemed to Eponine, however, that Cosette suspected she was with child. There could be no other explanation for the small frown the pretty girl had first given upon seeing Eponine, her eyes slipping to the sight of the barely perceptible mass of her abdomen. Upon seeing the the girl's reaction to this, Eponine had given her a small smile, willing her face not to burn as she imagined what these people thought she was.

Glancing up at Cosette, she felt a strain in the air between them both. Marius had surely told his beloved wife that she had led him to her side, and of the dark, insufferable place they had both struggled to survive in, but Eponine could not help but wonder if she remembered anything of the inn at Montfermeil. Did she remember the torments? The tortures? The names, the beatings, the innumerable, deplorable, and constant suffering that had been forced upon her for the mere amusement of others. With a slight and inexplicable shiver in her seat, Eponine did. She would not be surprised if the Lark hated her.

"Eponine?" Cosette said aloud, her voice high and flawless, smiling when the girl seated across from her looked up into her face as a signal that she was listening. "I was wondering if you would mind speaking alone for a moment?" She asked, her smile permitting the room to see her fine white teeth all arranged in a symmetrical row. "Just about womanly matters, of course." She added when she saw Eponine hesitate, and, a moment later, the other girl nodded and rose from our seat.

As Cosette closed the door of some nicely furnished side room behind her, Eponine sat down on a little velvet settee, feeling a wave of terror wash over her like a deep, heavy, and deadly wave. Why would this fine lady want to speak with her in private? Would she question her about her pregnancy? Did she perhaps know of her marriage to the Inspector? At the next possible reason her frantic mind formulated, she felt her stomach sink. Did Cosette know of Eponine's once driving love for her husband? Even worse, did she still think she was in love with Marius?

To Eponine, the beautiful woman in front of her seemed to have sprouted wings since their childhood, whereas hers had been ripped from her back.

"Do you remember me? From Montfermeil?" She said suddenly, before the pretty woman had a chance to question her on any of these topics. "We were children then, you, me, and my sister, Azelma. I remember, a man came and took you away one Christmas and we never saw you again." Leaning her head backwards to stare at the high, clean ceiling, Eponine's lips curled upwards into a small, sad smile, envisioning the time that was barely more than a year ago where she had wanted nothing in the world but to see Marius' smile, to hear his soft voice speaking ambitious words to a musky room, to feel the infatuous sensation he inspired within her as a girl. But, to her, all those days seemed a millennium ago, nothing more but dreams and fantasies she could barely recall, dreams and fantasies she _didn't _want to recall. Not with Javert's proud, quiet self still prowling somewhere within her friend's house. "Sometimes," She whispered, her eyes closing so that Cosette saw the lavender circles smeared across her lids like a thick and sorrowful paint. "I wished he had taken me away, too. But I suppose I didn't deserve it. You, you were innocent. You deserved nothing of what we put you through. But you seem so well now. I'm pleased."

Cosette listened intently to her ramblings, her crystalline blue eyes bent and almost frightened, as if she was listening to the mutters of a mad woman. Taking a deep breath to restore her calm, the young woman sat down beside Eponine on the plush settee, taking the woman's hand in hers and smiling at her gently.

"I remember. A little bit." She replied, her smooth, bird song voice instantly making Eponine sigh peacefully. Though she could not name it, there was something about the Lark that put her at ease, like the sound of a well learned musician or the way the usually filthy city shined after a heavy rain. There were no sharp notes and no ugly smells in the world when Cosette was near. _She should be the mother, not me, _Eponine retorted to herself, absentmindedly placing a solitary hand over her stomach where she almost felt the child growing within her. "But children will be children, of course." She continued, smiling tenderly. "Anything that was said and done is all in the past. There's no use dwelling on it when we could be perfectly happy thinking of other things." She said thoughtfully, placing a hand over Eponine's, accidently making the other woman jump before settling into the strange peace Cosette brought her fragile life. "There's no use dwelling on past wrongs when we could be such good friends. Besides, from what Marius has told me, while I was living a comfortable, charmed life with people who loved me, you had to fend for yourself all alone on the streets. I can't imagine what you've seen."

"Friends?" Eponine asked aloud, her eyes blinking open with surprise as her back straightened, both her and Cosette's hand falling from her abdomen. "I've never had many friends. Just Marius if I could count him. And my sister, and the servant woman who works in Javert's home."

"I've never had many friends either." She said with a slight shake of the head and a small, almost sorrowful laugh. "But you can certainly add me to that list if I have permission to add you to mine. It seems we are both in need of more company, and what better company but that of friends?" She asked softly, wrapping her black clothed arms around Eponine's neck and, unable to notice the discomfort she produced upon the other girl by embracing her, held her to her person tightly. "After all, we are almost like sisters, in a strange way."

"Of course." Eponine murmured, dragging herself away from Cosette's arms. "Of course, Sister." She added, likewise gracing Cosette with a gentle, tentative embrace.

Behind them, a curt knock sounded at the door, and both woman looked up to see the rest of the party enter the room, excluding only Marius' aunt who had retired to her room to read her gospels. As her husband sat down, Cosette immediately moved to sit beside him, curling her fingers into his, and smiling at him with devoted fondness in her face. This simple gesture would have impaled Eponine before, but now she only felt slightly nervous as Javert sat beside her, closer to her than he usually sat when with company. She had hoped before coming here that Marius and Cosette would already be quite aware of her and the Inspector's marriage, but now it was quite clear that they didn't have the slightest clue. She was sure, however, that they must think her his mistress, or kept woman, or some other thing she wouldn't stand to be called. In her mind's eye, she imagined both of their reactions to the information that had been withheld from them for this long. Cosette, she was sure, would be hugely uncomfortable, but would still act pleased. She could not foretell Marius' response. He was too cryptic for Eponine to read.

"On to business then, hmm?" Said the old man, taking the seat beside his grandson and lounging over his chair peacefully.

"Business?" Javert asked him, quietly, his steely eyes sending more than a hint of unease into the room. "What business could we possibly have together?"

"Well, you see, Eponine, Monsieur Inspector, when my father fought in Waterloo, he was injured gravely. After the battle ended, a man by the name of Thenardier saved his life by dragging him away from Britain's forces. At the time, my father had nothing to give him to thank with, so he vowed to the man that he would find him again one day and repay his debt. Eponine," Marius paused, taking her hand and clasping his own hands around her cold fingers. "My father never found that man who saved his life. He died before he had a chance to pay his debt, and now his debt is mine. I don't have the smallest inkling of energy to waste on your father, nor do I have the intention of associating myself with his kind. But you, Eponine, you are certainly welcome into my life. In fact, to repay my debt, you must start living with Cosette and I at once." He claimed, smiling at her, and she began to feel the blood drain from her face. She was not and had never been the kind of person to receive joy from breaking others' illusions. "There is no need, Monsieur Inspector, to continue looking after her. I assure you she will be quite safe and happy here with my family and I."

Marius smiled genuinely at her, and Eponine found her hands withdrawing from his. Her gaze focused on her fingers clenched tightly into the green fabric of her skirt, and, beside her, a disturbing noise filled the air, making each person who heard it pause, an inexplicable chill running through their spine. Even Eponine found the noise disconcerting; after all, she could count on the fingers of one hand how many times she had heard her husband laugh. Her eyes slipped to her right to look at his face, and she was not surprised to find that he had one hand placed over his mouth to stifle the rare sound, this strange portrayal of amusement so dark and devoid of any warmth that it instantly sent a dreary air into the room.

"You cannot possibly expect me to relinquish my hold of her." Javert told the deluded young man and his family after he had executed his laughing, curling one arm around his wife's waist with dominance. "Especially not now that she's carrying my child." He finished, his lips curved upwards into an expression that was half grin and half sneer that exposed his strangely sharp canine teeth. He snickered again and everyone in the room, even Eponine, found their gaze falling to the floor to avoid the chance of their eyes meeting his.

In shock, Marius stared at her, and Eponine likened his disbelieving form to that of a deer in front of a hunter, knowing that it must escape but still unable to make its long, spindly legs move through a deep, terrible, all consuming fear rendering them incapable of preserving their life. She grimaced somewhat guiltily at him. She knew now that it would have been better to tell her old friend of her relation with the Inspector herself, long before Javert had had the chance to force the information over his head.

"Child?" He asked them both, the ridiculousness of the situation lowering the dynamic of his voice to something barely more than a whisper. Marius' handsome, porcelain face was flushed slightly, though Eponine could not decipher whether it was through rage or embarrassment. "You're carrying. . . his child? Impossible, 'Ponine." He continued, his voice getting louder until Cosette clenched his arm slightly in an attempt to calm him. "You're the last person to ever do anything of the sort without being-"

"You never were never very attentive to small details." Eponine interrupted his startled rant to preserve her good name, raising her hand slightly and twisting the wedding ring on her finger so that Marius could easily see the stone that glinted there. "We've been married almost four months now, he and I. I'm happy, I think."

"You think?" Cosette asked her, twining her fingers through her husbands in an effort to calm him further.

"Well, I've never really been happy before. But I think this is what it feels like. Surely this must be what it feels like?" She murmured to herself, dreamily, allowing her hand to rest against her husbands forearm.

Marius sat in silence, staring at her numbly. His grandfather sat on one side of him, and his wife on the other. He was wedged between two people who adored him endlessly, two people who practically worshiped the ground he walked on. He had never been without love or friendship in his life. His father, though Marius had never met him, had adored him greatly, even though his son barely acknowledged his existence. Even when he had been exiled from his home for belief in the wrong kinds of politics Marius had only spent a few hours in the cruel, outside world before he had met Courfeyrac and then the other students of the Les Amis whom he had found a niche with. And not soon after he had fallen in love with Cosette.

But Marius now realized that some people, Eponine included, were not so fortunate. His heart had been bleeding since he learned of his late father, since his dearest friends had all been massacred in a futile attempt to change the world, since Jean Valjean had died. Now his heart bled for Eponine, as well. He looked back on all of his conversations with her with a somewhat horrified clarification. How had he not noticed in all those poverty filled minutes the terrible, fathomless misery that had possessed her for every waking moment? Why had he done nothing to ease her pain? Why had he left her to suffer the way she had?

Because he had been stupid, a voice hissed in his ear. And he had been blind. And he had been selfish.

Marius was silent.

Looking distantly at Eponine and Javert, his sudden panic softened slightly. Her husband was proud, arrogant, and cruel to most. Marius had once pitied wolfish the man who he knew of well for sure knowledge that he had never been and would never be loved. But now his mind had changed. There was something about the two seated in front of him that swayed his former pity. There was something strange and ethereal in the air that separated Javert from his wife and Eponine from her husband. They were not seated as close to each other as most people in love did, but he could tell by just looking at them that they shared a bond that could not be named or spoken of aloud. It was almost as if the two shared a single soul, or if the souls they had been given at birth had been merged into one.

"If you are both happy," He said, quietly, leaning down to rest his head against his hand. "Then I am happy. What else does life need but love, music, and happiness?"

"I don't see why your approval would be important to us anyways." Javert said, frowning at the handsome young man. "You claim you are friends with my wife, but I'm sure you're oblivious to the fact that she saved both mine and my subordinate's life, that she was shot, that she spent weeks in the hospital while recovering. You didn't know of your friend's whereabouts, you were ignorant to the fact that she was exiled from her home, you failed to learn of her marriage. I can't fathom why you would ever think your opinions worthy of her. Your ignorance is utterly path-"

"Arcturus." Eponine said once, warning him against further reprimendations, her voice cold and commanding while her eyes were alive with angry flame. Obeying her demands somewhat sullenly, Marius and Cosette watched as Javert leaned backwards in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring openly at the pretty, boyish baron without a trace of a single qualm. Eponine gritted her teeth and bit back a retort she was ready to throw at him, narrowing her eyes at his childish monologue and deciding that it would not look good if the two argued in front of others.

"But how on earth did you ever come together? A poor girl and a police officer! It's the most ridiculous match I've ever heard of." The grandfather spoke up in the midst of an uncomfortable silence, leaning backwards and frowning at them both. "You're both so dissimilar you couldn't possibly maintain a healthy marriage."

"Oh, how perfectly right you are." Javert told the man, his words poisoned with intolerable sarcasm. "It is not as if she adores me and I adore her. We'll just have to annul the marriage, my dear." He told Eponine, matching the old man's frown so that the scars on his face were illuminated by the steady fire in the corner. "We are incredibly pleased with each other." He said, quietly. "She is the only person I have ever cared for in my entire life and that is the way it will remain."

"And you have a child on the way, too." Cosette added, trying to ease the growing irritation building in the room, her pretty cheeks soft and rosy, eager to relieve the growing tension in the room. "You must be so excited."

"Excited, nervous. I suppose they're both the same thing anyways." Eponine explained, gripping Javert's arm slightly in a command to not tell him the possible outcome of her pregnancy. When the hand he had wrapped around her waist moved slightly, his thumb pressing into her back, she knew he understood. Those facts would remain private. "It was a surprise for both of us."

"Surprises are good, though." Cosette said. "Sometimes the things that bring us the most happiness are the things we would never expect."


	27. Chapter 27

Weeks passed. Cosette and Eponine grew closer, while an icy barrier was formed between Javert and Marius. The two men refused to make amends with each other over the steady insults passed back and forth between them, the heated irritation that existed in the Inspector's soul and the revolutionary's heart colliding like two bulls in a Spanish arena. Both woman had hoped that their husbands would adjust to the friendship that Cosette and Eponine had readily jumped onto, but now it was apparent that it would most likely not happen. Javert hated Marius for the former cruel treatment of his wife and Marius hated Javert for the cruel treatment he had given him over his past actions. It was an endless circle, and one that would not be resolved easily. But none of this prevented the two men's wives from becoming inseparable.

"How long did you say you've been with child?" Cosette asked her new companion, hunching over and smiling at Eponine's abdomen, already admiring the child that had not yet been introduced into the world. In the gloomy universe of Javert's parlor room, the soft, adorable woman seemed out of place amongst the uncomfortable chairs and couches and the dim, eye straining light of which both Eponine and her husband dwelled in with the utmost confidence.

"I'm nearly four months." She answered, quietly, observing the dazzling way Cosette's long, blond hair was illuminated by the sunlight pouring forth from the window they sat beside. Winding her fingers through her own brown hair, she dragged her dark curtain over her shoulder, wondering if the sun had the same effect on her.

"You've barely even begun to show." Cosette exclaimed, her lips pouting slightly and her forehead wrinkling. "Are you sure you're quite healthy?"

"It's only because she's so slight." Marius assured his wife, placing a gentle hand on his Cosette's shoulder and taking the open seat beside her. "Think of it, 'Ponine." He told the other woman, smiling somewhat wistfully at her. "In just five months you'll be a mother." Crossing his arms over his chest, he shook his head slightly to himself and stared at a fixed point on the wall opposite him. "So much has happened in a year." He said, thinking aloud as troubled people often do. "I've fallen in love, I've been married, and I've lost so many souls who I held dear to me." Marius' sad words inspired a chill over the room, himself thinking of his friends and that hero Jean Valjean, Cosette thinking of her beloved father, and Eponine thinking of all the pain they must both be going through as well as the own things she had experienced that year.

A year ago she had been sitting on the streets begging for a coin. If somebody had told her while she sat on the baking sidewalk that, in a year, she would be sitting in Inspector Javert's home carrying his child with his ring on her finger she would have punched them for the insult. Thinking of her husband, she glanced up to where he sat at the opposite end of the room. He had been reading in silence, too obsessed with his book to notice the others' conversation, but now he was watching Eponine with an intense gaze, his brow furrowing as she knew it did when he was concentrating on something. She smiled at him, thinking of all the happiness he had given her, and, in return, Javert's skeptical eyes softened into something akin to fondness.

When Marius noticed his friend's gaze locked onto her husbands, he turned in his seat and looked at his undeclared enemy, making any emotion Javert may have possessed vanish within seconds.

"I have some work to do. I'll be back in a few minutes." He said, formulating an excuse to leave the room, not wanting any witnesses to the feelings he had towards his wife.

As the hinges of the door clicked behind him, Eponine sighed, pursing her lips and wishing that her husband would not always be so cold towards everyone but her.

"I have no idea why anyone would ever feel for that man." Marius said to her, his voice nothing but bitter as he sat back, glaring slightly at the closed door. He was acting childish, everyone saw that, even Marius himself, but there was no way to stop the steady hatred pouring forth from his being towards Inspector Javert. If asked why he hated him so much, the baron would not be able to answer because he did not know himself. The Inspector was a well respected officer, he had first taken in his friend, and then he had made Eponine happy, an endeavor of which Marius himself had only ever done. He had even been present at Jean Valjean's death bed afte the poor old men had had his last glimpse of the world. He had expected the law enforcer to be filling out some sort of paperwork, recording the death of just another prisoner, but when he had peaked into the room when his wife was not looking, Marius had found the Inspector kneeling at Jean Valjean's side, his eyes closed with a sneer and his hands clasped in a prayer. This had confused him. He certainly did not know of any relationship towards the two men, only excluding that Jean Valjean had rescued Javert from the revolutionaries to free him on the pretense of an execution. Marius was confused and, therefore, he hated. It is a common reflex among all.

"Marius!" Cosette reprimanded him in a sharp whisper, but Eponine shook her head a moment later, smiling at his frown with a gentle quality that immediately wiped the arrogant scowl from the handsome young man's face.

"No, I understand completely." She said, soothing Marius' aggravated soul with a faint murmur in her rough voice. "Javert is hard. . . he is stony, cruel sometimes, ignorant, intent, hardly reverent. But that is not all he is." She told him, closing her eyes and bringing her hand to her forehead as if exhausted from life. "When I found him, when I met him, that is, he was in a lot of pain. Not physically, but spiritually. He needed someone, and I needed someone, don't you see, Monsieur Marius? He took me in and I. . . I took him in as well, in a way."

"Yes." Cosette said, her feminine nature intrigued by this unusual romance. In return, Eponine smiled at her, standing and folding her arms across her chest to look out of the window comfortably. There wasn't a single person on the street on the hot summer's Sunday, but she thought she spied a man dressed in all black leaning against the doorway of the house opposite of her own. Before she had time to steadily observe him, however, Marius caught her attention again.

"What is it, then, that drove you together? I can't imagine where you met or why you sought out each other afterwards." He said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion and his pink lips twisting in skepticism.

Eponine paused, sighed, and turned to look at him. What he saw startled the young man more than he was prepared for. He had met Eponine years previously, in that strange time where the charming beauty of her youth had struggled against the growing ugliness poverty had inflicted on her. She hadn't been pretty then, but she hadn't been entirely homely either. That was how she appeared to him now. In addition to this familiar strain he saw over her face, she also looked much older than he remembered. The past year had matured her, her ordeals giving her an insight on the different turmoils of life. When thinking of the petty, selfish dreams she had once imagined to herself as a girl, Eponine would scoff. To her, they were nothing but a stupid child's games. She was embarrassed to have ever held her arms about her and pretended that it was Marius who was holding her.

"I saved his life. I suppose he felt that he owed me something. When I was shot I told him I no longer had a home. He offered me a room. And then we just. . . grew close." She illustrated to them both, sitting back down and silently thinking of the many hours she had felt Javert's eyes burning into her back as she senselessly dreamed of Marius, the plea she had made to her husband to make her forget all of her tortures, and finally of the words he had spoken to her of his adoration, the words that had made her love him. She would, of course, never tell Marius and Cosette of the many times she had locked both her and Javert in his office to participate in heated activities that verged on sinful. The innocents were too pure to hear of such things. "He is a strange man, of course, but I still care for him. Without him I would probably be dead right now. God only knows what I was thinking of before he took me off the streets." She said with a bitter smile, remembering how she had contemplated taking her own life before Javert had saved her from the watery grave of the Seine.

"Is that why you married him? You think you owed him something for giving you a home? I could have done the same thing and you would have never even considered marrying me, 'Ponine." Marius said, humorously, and she felt some strange knife stab through her, his idiotic ignorance wounding her even now that she no longer had any romantic feelings for him.

"Yes." She answered him, her voice almost faltering with the pain of being ignored so completely. "But he's also given me much more than a roof." She said with a smile, forgetting his unintentionally cruel words in an instance as she thought of all the things Javert _had _given her that Marius would never be able to provide. His lips as he kissed her in the dark, his help when his subordinate had tried to arrest her, his promise to never harm her, his determination to raise their child perfectly, and then his vow to always love her. Nobody else would have ever given her these things, and, in transition, Javert would not have given them to anyone else. "It may be hard to believe, Monsieur Marius, but I love him very much." Eponine said, placing her hand over her slightly swollen abdomen and grinning. "And, though both of you must promise to never tell him that I told you, he loves me very much."

"I understand, I suppose." Marius said, looking at her thoughtfully, his hand finding its way to his wife's at the mention of love. "I just don't understand why he would be ashamed about loving someone."

"He's not ashamed, Marius." Cosette said, squeezing his hand slightly. "He's just a private man, like my father. Some men like to keep their lives private for important reasons. After all, Eponine's husband is a very good police inspector. He probably has many enemies." Contemplating this, Marius nodded and sunk back into silence, and Cosette continued speaking. "So, tell me, Sister, do you want your child to be a son or a daughter?"

"Javert wants a son, of course. Somebody to teach the trade, I'm guessing. If he had his way there'd be a whole patrol in this house." Eponine said, smiling at the small tinkling sound of Cosette's laugh. "But I wouldn't mind having a daughter." She said after a moment. "I'd like to dress her in white for church and brush her hair. And she could sing and dance and play the harpsichord. It would be lovely. But I'll love this child either way, even if I'm afraid of being a mother."

"I pity the boy who would fall in love with any daughter of yours." Marius said suddenly, his eyes kind and soft as he imagined the situation. "If your child is a girl your husband will have her locked away in some tower by the time she's a young woman, no doubt sending filthy glares to any man who finds himself at odds with her."

"A tower?" Javert asked, and all three peoples' eyes lifted to find Javert leaning against the door jamb of the room, his arms crossed over his chest. "That doesn't seem quite right. If I had a daughter," He continued, sitting down beside Eponine and wrapping his arm around her waist. "I wouldn't let her out of my sight."

"I can see her now," Cosette told him, her pink lips spreading into a wide grin. "She has long brown hair and. . . ." She paused, taking in both Eponine and Javert's appearances for context as to what their child may look like. "Green eyes," She said, softly, smiling prettily at her friend's husband. "And she's very slight, but not terribly so. Her skin is the color of fresh milk, but her cheeks are pink, and all men agree that she is the most beautiful girl in the entire city."

"But she's still strong, like her mother." Marius said, quaintly, smiling at Eponine. "And she is very witty and passionate and sometimes gets into trouble. But everyone adores her so much they can never stay angry with her for long, especially her Uncle Marius."

"Uncle Marius!" Exclaimed Eponine, closing her eyes and shaking with boisterous laughter. "I like the sound of that, I do!" She said, still laughing but giving a regretful grin as a hint of her old grammar slipped into her sentence.

"And then it turns out be a boy and your whole illustration is ruined." Javert said, gruffly, his lips twitching upwards as the others all laughed, as if he meant to laugh with them.

Outside, Montparnasse stood in the rain, arms crossed over his chest as he stared into his future wife's window. His vision had become too accustomed to dark during his imprisonment, and now he could barely see during the light of day. Now, as the summer rain dripped down his face, he squinted to make out the few shadows of people in the window, his teeth clenching slightly as he made out the Inspector's broad form. Hearing the soft pattering of worn boots to his right he looked up and recognized the thin, wispy form of Azelma, her chest rising up and down frantically because she had just run there.

"You're late." He told her, watching as she raised a hand to her chest as if trying to calm her erratic heartbeat.

"I know," She gasped, placing her hand against the brick wall beside her to steady her spinning vision. "I got. . . I got caught up in some stuff." She lied, having been buried in Officer Liviet's warm chest the entire morning, only asking him for the time just fifteen minutes ago and discovering Montparnasse had been missing her for the past half hour. "I almost got picked up by some dogs but I got out of it." She lied again, hoping that the boy in front of her would be able to forgive her tardiness if she had just gotten in trouble with the law instead of spending the night then morning with it.

"Stupid girl." He barked at her, frowning. "I told you to be careful. It was hard enough planning this break out. We don't have time to do the same for you."

"I know. Sorry, 'Parnasse."

He nodded at her, forgiving only because Azelma was his love's sister.

"You need some cash?" He asked her, closing his eyes which were aching from the daylight invading his pupils.

"'Parnasse I don't think there's been a time in my life where I haven't needed any." Azelma said, her face darkening a moment later. "Did you want anything? I don't think I'm free tonight." She said, quietly, her face blank. This time she wasn't lying. She would most likely be passing her night hours sleeping at Lestan's side or sitting beside the hearth with him, always silent, never engaging in anything more sinful than simply sharing a bed with him.

"No." Montparnasse said, cracking his eyes open slightly and glancing at her. In comparison to Eponine, not a single woman was worthy enough to share a night with him. "Only, stay out of the way tomorrow night." He said, pulling a jumble of coins from his coat pocket and thrusting them into her hands. In awe, she counted the accumulation of money. There were enough francs in her finger tips to feed her for a week if she was careful. "Take that as tomorrow night's pay and stay home."

Azelma nodded, burying the coins in her bodice. Licking her dry lips, she smiled at him. "Is there anything I can do for you in the mean time?" She asked him, dreading the slim chance he said yes.

"No. Leave me." He said and, without a single farewell, she left. Walking across the street at a particular angle so that he could not be seen from the window he was watching steadily, he clamped his hands over the iron bars that separated him from Eponine's overgrown garden. He looked and looked and looked and looked, but he could find none of the red flowers she had always been so fond of, the same red flowers that had grown from the grime of filthy soil and bloomed into simple but beautiful crimson blossoms. This absence upset him.

Montparnasse looked back on all of the hours that he and Eponine could have spent together if it were not for the Inspector. They could have been married already. They could have already been expecting their first child. They could have already _had _their first child. But that was all wasted, all because of one man who, by the morning after next, would be nothing but a gruesome remembrance for them all. By tomorrow night Inspector Javert would dead and all the citizens of would finally be liberated from their biggest oppressor. There would be nothing but memories, but that would not take back the hours, days, and months he had stolen from the mad man's life.

_"But o it presses to my memory like damned guilty deeds to sinners' minds!" _Montparnasse hissed, baring his teeth at the window above him.


	28. Chapter 28

**We are almost at the end, I'm afraid. Just a few chapters left, and, though this is an incredibly short chapter, due to the sequence of holidays in multiple religions at this time of year, I'm planning on making an update each day from now on as my gift to each of you. TTFN.**

* * *

"Six arrests and an armed robbery, and all in one day. You must be exhausted, my love." Eponine said to her husband, sitting back on their bed and smiling at him coyly as he slid his muscled arms out of the coarse captivity of his coat sleeves. In a silent reply, he grinned at her, looking somewhat annoyed while peering at her slightly swollen stomach in the dark. If it were not for their child, Javert would have gladly exercised his marital rights over her that evening, but, seeing as the slightest disruptance could cause a further problem for her pregnancy, he was forbidden to even touch her. He quickly banished his annoyance, however. He would have a warm body sleeping at his side that night and, even if it meant several months of prolonged discomfort, he would sacrifice possible physical pleasures to keep that body at his side for the remainder of his life.

"Completely." He told her, closing his heavy lids as she stood and wound her slim fingers around the cool buttons of his waistcoat, tracing her soft lips against his neck in the thin moonlight that managed to creep from the closed curtains, sending the room into an almost liquid atmosphere. He smiled, knowing very well that she could not see him in the dark. That was the way he spent his days. Tired, but pleased. Nothing seemed like a better option.

"Perhaps," Eponine murmured, leaning her head into his shoulder so that her lips were only a few inches away from his ear, her warm breath making his core ache terribly. "There is a way. . . I could. . . relieve you of all your pains." She whispered, letting her hands fall to the level of his belt, fingering the fastening of his leather belt suggestively.

"You know we cannot, Eponine." He said, moving her hands and stepping past her to sit on the bed and unlace his heavy boots, sending her an irritated glance.

"We cannot make love," She whispered to her husband, her eyes dark and shadowed by dense lashes, her voice thick and rich with sensuality. "But that does not mean I cannot pleasure you." She told him, her eyes glossy and glimmering mischievously. "I have hands, after all." Eponine said, her voice once again dropping to a whisper, her words moist with an unhidden need for excitement in her tedious life. "And a mouth." She added, parting her lips. Did Cosette ever say these kinds of things to Marius? she asked herself, licking her lips as she did when thinking. Eponine had to suppress an arrogant snort. The idea was laughable. They were both far too innocent and modest for anything of the sort. Their nights were probably filled with no more than a quick, quiet, and routine fumble in the dark before falling asleep.

Though her face was barely perceptible to him in the gloom, he could see Eponine's lips curve into a catlike smile as she replaced her hands over his waist, sliding the cool leather strip from his belt loops and dropping it to the floor. Javert grinned at her again, enjoying the sensation of her fingertips against the fabric of his trousers as he felt himself begin to stir beneath her complacent touch, listening with content ears as she laughed slightly when noticing his arousal. Eponine needed relief just as much as her husband and, though he could offer her nothing in her current state, she easily sympathized with the growing desire manifesting themselves within them both. Why make him suffer with her when she could easily pleasure him enough to rid him of any stress?

Below them, a loud, ominous crash resounded through the house and through the floor boards at their feet, making Eponine jump where she stood. More eery still, only silence followed the alien noise, making Javert narrow his eyes at the wall, listening intently to any other disruptions that could present themselves before him.

"What was that?" She asked him, her hands quickly clinging to his chest with fright. The image of a red rose placed tenderly over her windowsill flew to her mind and Eponine felt herself give an involuntary shiver while imagining what the Patron-Minette may have in mind for her. They could not possibly have plans to steal her away now, not when she was married, not when she was expecting a child. The reminder of her child suddenly coursed through her like a cold flame in her veins. She had not even thought of her child. Surely they would want to kill it; the thieves and vagabonds she had once called her friends could not risk having another Inspector Javert prowling the streets. Eponine knew very well that there was a gypsy woman in the slums who could make pregnancies vanish in a painful night filled with blood and screams, and the men of her old life would not hesitate a moment to seek out the old woman's assistance. She did not want that fate, neither for her or her child, an innocent being who had not yet even breathed a single breath. Suddenly she felt as if she could feel the beating of the miniscule heart of her child within her body, and a wild sense of protectiveness burned in her like the force that had driven the young revolutionaries of Marius' companionship. If Patron-Minette killed her child they would soon find their lives at a close, as well.

But Javert was there, her love, her husband, the man she had vowed to give the remainder of her life, the man who had promised her that no harm would ever find her, a strong, sturdy man who stood directly across from her, one broad arm wrapped around her back protectively. _Surely he would not let that promise be broken, _she reassured herself as he stepped away from her without a word, pulling his coat back on and opening the oaken door of their bedroom. Staring at his Grecian figure, she felt herself calm more. She hadn't heard of a single person who could match his strength, not even Brujon or any of her father's other brutes, and, if any man went up against him, they would be fighting a losing battle.

"I'm going to see what that was." He told her, his voice quiet and focused. "I'll be back in a moment."

She wanted to hiss at him not to leave her alone, but Eponine held her tongue. She could never let Javert know that she was afraid of something so trivial as a mere noise in the night. Instead, she wrapped her arms around herself, listening to Javert's foot steps down the hallway and then down the stairs. To calm herself, she sat in the chair beside the empty fireplace and took a few deep breaths, her head beginning to spin as she imagined what her mother and father might say to her. Whore, they would call her, slut, bitch, filth. Eponine gave a shuddering sigh, placing a single hand over her abdomen and vowing to never share the cruelty her parents had often inflicted on her towards her own child.

Thinking of her child, Eponine smiled. That morning she and Javert had spoken about names. She had listed many, he himself remaining silent for some time until suggesting one title that they had both taking a liking to. They had decided that, if their child was a girl, her name would be Esther.

Not five minutes later she heard steady steps on the stairs again, and she quickly stood, smiling at her husbands form in the dark. Nothing had happened. Sophie had probably just dropped something, she told herself.

"Let's go to bed, darling." Eponine told him. "I'll do that favor for you." She murmured, slyly, swishing her skirts slightly as she stood.

"Gladly," A smooth, silky voice rang through the air, and she paused before letting the air in her lungs escape from her body in one cool rush. The voice did not belong to her husband. It was a voice she recognized, one she had once been close to, one she had once known well, one whom she had feared for many months while rose after red rose continued to make their appearance in her home. Before she had time to say anything, however, the voice continued. "I'm sorry." Montparnasse said simply, and Eponine was suddenly aware that he was crying, something that confused her greatly. Great, pitiful sobs racked his body as he stepped closer to her, wrapping his arms around her body and pulling her close to his sweet smelling chest, and she wondered why on earth he was displaying this kind of emotion. "So, so sorry we are late, my love." He choked in between sobs. Hearing the noise, like the cry of some desperately wounded child, she felt her heart wrench, incredibly shocked at the murderer's behavior. Something was wrong in the air. Something was wrong with the man in front of her. He was not acting normally. "You, you had to. . . subject yourself to that man. I know, I came once, at night. I heard you both while he m-made you do those things. He m-made you marry him, too. But you're safe now. He can't hurt you anymore. I'll m-make sure of it." He continued, and she felt his arms shaking violently as he enveloped her in a tentative embrace.

Javert had forced her into matrimony with him? The notion was ridiculous and, in a lighter mood, Eponine would have scoffed. It was like something from the fairy stories her mother had told her and Azelma as children, some evil man forcing some princess as his bride before she was rescued by some handsome prince. But this time Montparnasse was her prince? Montparnasse who felt nothing but greed, lust, and pride rescuing her homely self from a law enforcer? Not a thing made sense.

But something was terribly off in Montparnasse's speech and movements. She had never seen him no less than suave and clever. A change this drastic meant something highly serious. _He's gone mad, _Eponine exclaimed to herself. Her next thought concerned her husband.

"'Parnasse, are you here alone?" She asked him, stumbling over her words, dreading his answer.

"Your father is downstairs. He said he needed to have a private talk with the Inspector." The handsome man said, laughing as soon as he finished his sentence. "I think I'll be having a _talk _with him later, too. A long one."

"'Parnasse," Eponine said, putting her hands on ether side of his face to force him to look at her, trying to ignore the tears that still ran down his pale cheeks in a steady downpour to wet her fingers. "Parnasse, listen to me. Are you listening?" She said, sharply, when his eyes repeatedly wandered away from her face. He nodded once and she took that as a cue to continue, though he still refused to look her in the eye. "'Parnasse I want to have a talk with the Inspector, too. He did so many terrible things to me, I should deserve at least that, shouldn't I? Is he downstairs?" He nodded again and she escaped from his embrace before shoving herself past him, but he quickly blocked the door from her access, suddenly gripping her shoulders in his hands hard enough to leave bruises that would last for weeks. In the faint light she could sense the glint of his bared teeth, sharp and houndish as he silently snarled at her.

"Not without me." Montparnasse said, slowly, and, without another word, he let go of her, only taking her hand and interlacing his fingers with hers as he had often done when they were children together. "I don't want you around that man without me." He spoke quietly, and, for the first time, Eponine could easily sense the affection behind his words. The roses he had left her came back to her mind again. Had Patron-Minette really been trying to communicate with her,or had it just been Montparnasse? He had always been a seducing devil when it came to woman, but she had never seen him actually try to court one. Was he perhaps attempting to do so with her? The thought, at one time, amused and scared her. Here she was, her body swollen with child, her hand taken by another, and now he sook her heart? But the handsome young man had always been one to easily upset, and the fits he had afterwards were something to be feared. Now that he was mad his reactions could be even worse. What would happen when he found out she had married Javert without the slightest qualm? What would he do when he found out she was carrying his child?

"Alright," Eponine consented, pulling him out of the room and down the stairs, her heart pounding in her rib cage as she imagined what may await her.

Hearing a raspy, nicotine damaged voice in the parlor, she pulled open the door and found her father relaxed and draped over the sofa, talking to Emile, Sophie, and Laura comfortably, as if they were old friends. The three servants stood in the corner, alarmed and horrified at the ugly specter in front of them but unable to do anything about his presence lest he harm them with deadly intentions. What Eponine saw next made her stomach sink. Her father looked up at her, his few broken teeth displayed in a grotesque smile, and shifted the pistol he was holding at her unconscious husband's head so that it caught the light of the fire merrily cracking beside her.


	29. Chapter 29

She quickly calculated things in her head. Her father, Montparnasse, and possibly other members of the Patron-Minette had broken into her home. They had somehow rendered her husband unconscious before tethering him. In addition, her father had a gun and was holding it beside Javert's temple. The servants were all in the corner, frozen in fear, and there was no way anyone else could possibly learn of the current predicament.

Her husband had helped her so much the past year that she had almost forgotten what it felt like to be on her own. Her skills were rusty, but that would not stop her from using every power she possessed to somehow reverse this situation.

"Let him go." Eponine demanded the gruesome scene before her, her lips curving into a snarl as she observed the pistol jabbing violently at her husband's temple. In response, her father laughed, and she felt as if she had never been angrier in her life. The pure rage that coursed through her veins felt like molten lead, as if she was some ancient goddess of precious metals, and the burning sensation that ignited every artery in her body told her to do only one thing: kill. It took all the control in her body not to jump on the man and strangle him there, but Eponine knew it would probably result in a possibly fatal injury either to her husband, or her and her child, so she restrained herself. Besides, her father was not the only man in the room she would have to deal with. Montparnasse was still standing behind her, a perplexed but angry expression on his face.

Seeing the madness plastered over his criminal companion's face, Thenardier quickly formulated a sentence to soothe any fits that may be building up within him. "You've been brainwashed, _fe._" He told her, spitting out the last word in an ugly syllable of argot to remind her who she was and where she belonged, hate in his eyes. Rarely, a father hates his son, but all too often the worst of all human emotions finds itself directed at a daughter through resentment. Thenardier hated his daughter for her his hideous, mangled teeth, stained with tobacco and filth, he shoved the nose of the pistol more forcibly into the Inspector's head, smiling grotesquely when he saw further aggravation spread itself through her face and posture.

"I swear to God if you harm him at all, I'll-!"

"You'll what, my filthy _fe_? Kill us? It seems you've forgotten that we're the ones with the gun." Thenardier said, relaxed, similar to the state someone might have been after a peaceful afternoon in the country. But there was a dark smog in his eyes that Eponine had become familiar with quite well over the past few years. It was the look he got shortly before he succeeded in a large robbery or, in this case, the elimination of one of his enemies. "Montparnasse," The dog like man continued, laying back but still holding his grimy pistol at its present position. "Want to take over for a bit? It seems I'm a bit tired after incapacitating my lovely daughter's husband."

Without turning around, Eponine felt Montparnasse slide away from her side to where her father sat, taking the grubby gun from his short, thick fingers and looking at the image of his love's oppressor's bloodied face in the damp light of the fire. For a fleeting moment, she thought she caught a glimpse of some important emotion in his eyes, but, with the flicker of the fire, it vanished. She quickly observed his blank, emotionless face, searching for any hint of the pity she may have just seen in his handsome, dark depths. She looked in vain, however. Nothing was to be found and Montparnasse quickly replaced Thenardier as the man she wanted to victimize.

"He's the one who wants to do it, you know? Kill the bastard Inspector, that is." Thenardier sang, still grinning at the seemingly wondrous spectacle around him like a child surrounded by a circus. "I guess he has a right to. After all, he was the one who landed him in prison in the first place and the man who's been fucking you for the past year. Or maybe longer, my _fe_? Your mother told me about seeing him in that little flat of yours one morning." He taunted her, agonizing her already strained self control. It was all Eponine could do to not force her hands over his throat and throttle every hint of breath out of his body. "Monteparnasse says that you were making some awfully sinful noises a few weeks ago when he visited."

She felt her face burn under the entire room's watch, but before she had time to speak and defend herself from his claims, Montparnasse said, his voice strangely soft and quiet, "Eponine?" He whispered, his eyes narrowed with confusion. "I don't understand. I thought you loved me. Aren't you happy we're here to help you?" A curled lock of brown hair fell over his porcelain face and she felt her stomach twinge. She knew how dangerous mad men could be, especially when provoked about something that mattered deeply to them, and it seemed that, by the gentle tone of his voice when he spoke to her and the obsessively careful way he had embraced her just a few minutes previously, there were some sort of feelings manifesting themselves within his broken mind. As it ever would, the thought made her feel terrified. No being could be as frightening as that young man who she had once called her closest friend.

"Montparnasse," She said, shaking her head slightly. "Montparnasse, please." She said, feeling a deep quake within he soul as her eyes began to prick over with the horrendously salty spills of her emotion. "Montparnasse, I'm with child. Please don't kill the father of my child." Bitterly, she cursed whatever force had made her commit to these actions. Here she was, Eponine, the always proud wife of Inspector Javert, the greatest police officer in the entire city of Paris, reduced to begging to preserve her husband's life.

She would not have done it for anything else.

"That bastard. . . got her pregnant." The mad man said to himself, letting the dirt stained pistol go limp in his hand as he ran his other hand through his damp and sweaty hair, his eyes focusing on the small lump of her stomach. All occupants of the room thought he might be suddenly ill, his face having paled dangerously, until he began to mumble to himself again, his words a strange mixture between his vernacular language and the language he used around his fellow thieves. "That bastard got her pregnant." He continued his quiet rant, always repeating those same five words until he was interrupted. Thenardier, eager to finish tonight's deed, was the first to be bold enough to speak aloud again.

"Don't worry." He told the mad man, moving over to his daughter and pinching her cheek mockingly, leaving behind a prominent streak of dirt when he removed his hand from her face to squeeze her shoulder menacingly, his rank breath tickling over her face as he smiled, knowing that his vice grip would leave her with bruises that would not fully heal for weeks. "We'll get rid of the brat as soon as possible and then the stupid slut's all yours."

"Don't call her that." Montparnasse murmured, his eyes locked on the ground, hastily switching gun hands to wipe his sweaty and burning palms on the coarse surface of his black frock coat. "Don't you ever call her that."

"What? A slut?" Thenardier barked before bursting into harsh peals of hoarse laughter. "How about whore then? How do you like it, filthy whore?" He asked Eponine, shouting in her ear and throwing back his head for another round of screeching hysterics.

All in an instance, Thenardier's laughing died out as soon as he saw the magnificent anger in his partner's eyes and the only sound that filled the room was the cracking of the still lit fire. The stillness was eery and the next thing Eponine knew she was cowering in the corner with the servants as Montparnasse began to unleash scream after scream of ferocious argot, moving his gun from the site of her husband's head to her father's face. She watched somewhat distantly as he old friend brought the nose of the pistol to her father's skull, causing the older man to whimper like a dog kicked by its master. Never in her life had she seen any person or being as angry as Montparnasse was now, not her father, not her mother, not Javert. Not even the revolutionaries whom Marius had been so fond of had been this angry at their government as they died, sacrificing their lives for their country. The shouts that echoed forth from his red lips had a supreme affect on Thenardier, and Eponine watched as her father sunk to the floor at the raging man's feet.

Violently, Montparnasse kicked his previous leader, his seemingly bloody lips cracking into a grin as the man whimpered and cradled his fractured ribs.

"Montparnasse!" Eponine implored him again, trying in vain to catch his attention in one last effort to gain his sympathy. "Montparnasse!" He still did not notice her amidst the torture of her father, and she watched faintly as a single red rose fell from the inner pocket of his coat and onto the floor without his notice. "Jehan." She whispered his name, his Christian name, the name he had told her as children and then swore her to secrecy to make sure she never told a soul. This time, even though her voice was barely perceptible amongst the agonized moans of his victim, he heard her. "Jehan, my old friend. You can stop all of this. Please stop it. If not for you, then do it for me."

He paused and all but fell silent once again, his face puzzled and sorrowful as he ran the two syllables of his name over and over in his fractured mind. Cautiously, Eponine retrieved his rose from the floor and pressed it into the palm of his hand after finding that there were no thorns to be found on its stem. _He must have cut them off, _she thought to herself, _for me. _He took the flower with an intensely dumbfounded expression, and he looked at her, the dam that held back all of his feelings suddenly collapsing as a flood of sorrow, pain, and affection all burst into his beautiful dark eyes.

As a child, he had never been fond of his name. It had been far too common for a man of his breed. Even his mother had called him by his surname. But, as children, when Eponine had been his closest companion in life as he longed for her to be now, he had asked her once to call him Jehan while rain had poured over their heads, creating a loud and magical world of water, and she had complied, her pink lips spreading into a smile as she whispered his name aloud to herself. She told him that she liked it, that it suited him, but he had made her swear to never speak aloud his name again in fear that it would ruin the image he was constructing himself. Jehan was far less threatening to him than Montparnasse. It seemed too soft, too kind, too much like he really was.

But she had remembered. His love, the mother of another man's child, had remembered his name, and now she wielded it like a scepter over his soul, calming that intense fury in him with a dampened gentleness. He looked down at the woman before him, focusing first on the dark trail of brown waves that fell over her shoulders and then on her pale skin, devoid of dirt and grime unlike his own handsome face. Finally, he concentrated on the look in her eyes, that soulful look of misery and anguish.

"_What is in a name?_" He asked himself, brushing a slim fingertip across the rim of a single velvet petal. "_That which we call a rose by any other name would smell just as sweet._ . . ."

With the immaculate gaze of a poet, he turned the rose over in his hand, looking at it from every angle. While he was distracted, Eponine formed a plan. With the speed of a learned thief, she tore the gun away from his grip like a wallet from a rich man's coat, just as her father had taught her to do, and she smiled when Montparnasse did not even comprehend the absence of the slick metallic material in his hand. Grinning almost as madly as the man in front of her, she stood and clicked the trigger, smiling even more broadly when the blood ran from her father's face. Slowly, Montparnasse raised his slim arms above his head and turned, only to back away from her and stand beside her father who had, likewise, raised his hands above his head in a surrender.

"I knew you were a mistake the moment you were born. I should have let you rot here and let your precious Inspector fuck you until you die, just like you deserve, you ungrateful bitch!" Thenardier hissed at her.

"A bitch?" Eponine asked him, still baring her sharp teeth in a grin. "I suppose I'm a bitch, papa. But I'll give you a hint of advice. Don't mess with a wolf unless you can deal with his mate."

Aiming the gun at the spot between his eyes, she prepared herself for the heinous act she was about to commit. _Thou shalt not kill, _the Ten Commandments had always told her, but if it was for the survival of her husband and her child, there was nothing else she could do. Surely God would want it that way, wouldn't he? Surely he would rather have one woman kill on sinner so as to save her one companion and the innocent still growing within her. No one could help her now. She was on her own again, just as she had always been. Pain adored her, God ignored her, and the dregs of mankind would never leave her alone unless she wiped away their existence from her life. And she knew that was the only way too finally break away the hands that were still trying to drag her back to her old miserable life.

Eponine could simply not allow it.

Before Eponine could pull the trigger of her father's pistol, however, a loud pang ripped through the air around her and she watched with distant eyes as her father crumpled to the floor, one hand slapped to his head where a bullet had sliced through his brain. She looked up to Montparnasse, but there was not a single explanation in his eyes. He was just as confused as her. Shaking her head, she felt a sharp tasting bile rise in her throat as she stared at her once loving father's body, the body of a man whose soul had long since been corrupted and roted away until nothing remained but greed and hate.

Still, Eponine wanted to cry.

Her father was dead. But she hadn't been the one to kill him.


	30. Chapter 30

**ALRIGHT. Who saw the mistakes? Those are my lazy Shakespeare fan mistakes. I fixed them...**

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Eponine watched, her eyes glossed over with an eery detachment, as Lestan kicked in the heavy, oaken door, the thick, black leather of his boots smearing mud against the reddish-brown surface. She knew now how he had done it. He must have entered the house by himself and, hearing the commotion Montparnasse had created after her father had instigated his rage, the young officer had found himself at the door of the room all inhabitants were being held in. The door had been left open, but only slightly, allowing Lestan a glimpse of the internal workings of the room of horrors, he had seen the entire situation and, to preserve Eponine from an eternity for committing a murder, he had been swift to do the action himself as soon as he saw her arms shaking violently as she raised the tremendous weight of the ugly old man's grubby pistol to his face.

A moment after the hideous and filthy corpse fell to the floor, he raised his distant blue eyes to the other criminal and was about to pull the trigger before a panicked voice commanded him to stop.

"Don't kill him!" Eponine repeated, grabbing one of Montparnasse's hands. Seeing Lestan's hesitation, however, she continued to further explain, her words spilling out of her mouth in an almost unintelligible spur. "He's mad!" She claimed, her voice loud, adrenaline and fear still coursing through her body like a painful flame. "He needs a doctor. Don't kill him." She said, her voice dropping to a murmur as a sudden wave of nausea and exhaustion washed over her.

Lestan's fantastic blue eyes washed over Montparnasse, at once taking in the symptoms of his pale skin, the patchy flush f his cheeks, the hazy, almost drugged look on his face. Even as he stood in the midst of chaos, his eyes were unfocused, as if he could not comprehend his current surroundings, and his entire body swayed gently, his appendages unable to balance properly. He had no doubt at all that the man was mad, but that did not force Lestan from dropping his gun to his waist. What made him lower his eyes was the look of supreme grief, pain, and sorrow plastered over the criminal's face. Not for his fallen comrade, Lestan noticed, but for Eponine. He was looking at her, his dark eyes filled with a dedicated compassion that made Lestan want to be ill.

_He's like me, _he thought to himself. _He must love her as much as I do._

Lestan felt his hand fall to his hip. As a precaution, however, he kept his pistol tightly clenched in his hand and handcuffed the sickly man before him, watching as Montparnasse slumped to the floor, smiling up at him wistfully as he sat, cross legged like a child, his arms bent behind his back almost comfortably.

"I'm a criminal in love with a police inspector's wife." The mad man said to the officer standing above him, his voice kind enough to suggest that the two men were in fact good friends. "_My only love sprung from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late!_"

Lestan spared the man a single glance before shaking his head to himself and helping up the servants who were still seated on the ground and in the corner. Eponine's silent eyes observed the attentiveness Lestan gave to his former overseer, his pale hands running themselves across her husband's neck and forehead carefully, acknowledging the single wound that had been blown to his head with a blunt object, just hard enough to render the ferocious man unconscious. How Thenardier and Montparnasse had managed to perform this great act, nobody would ever know. When later questioned, Montparnasse would simply state that he could not recall, and neither could Javert.

A nearly dried trail of blood ran from the unconscious man's head to his chin and, speaking for the first time that night, Lestan said to Emile, blankly, "I know a doctor who lives on the Rue Chauburg. Fetch him, and, if you can, go to the nearest police station and tell them there is a body to be collected." He said, his entire demeanor cold and formal, his posture rigid and distant as his eyes traveled over his superiors body in search of other injuries.

"How did you know to come here?" Eponine asked him, stepping to his side softly and likewise checking her husband for any other injuries she had not first detected. With a rush of relief, she found none and waited patiently for Lestan's answer. Absentmindedly, her hand drifted over his arm, her fingers still shaking slightly, and, with the haste of a hunted rabbit, she watched as Lestan jerked his head to stare at her, his bright blue eyes startled as if he had not even known she had been there. The flame light flickered over his pale and thin face, and Eponine realized she had not seen the man for several months. Though she could not decide on a specific change in his appearance beside the look of lack of sleep, she knew something had been changed in his behavior. To a woman who had had her own share of misery, he did not seem miserable at all. Instead, he seemed to be nothing short of distant, a celestial being from a different realm who had somehow found his way into her world by accident. His cloudy eyes could have been made from the sky, his ungroomed hair from starlight.

Where had this transformation come from? Eponine felt as if only the birds could tell.

"Azelma." He said shortly after a momentary pause, giving no further clarification, his purple stained lids dropping over his eyes heavily. Without a word, Eponine's curious mind numbly wondered how the two had met again after her wedding, but, sensing not to press the subject at the current moment, she refrained herself from questioning him at all. Instead, she silently thanked Azelma for her ability to reason, even though she knew a punishment was likely in store for her when Patron-Minette and the other vagabonds of Paris discovered she had foiled Inspector Javert's assassination. She was no longer the stupid, thin minded girl she had been just a year ago, and Eponine could be no less than pleased with her sister's maturity. Azelma had denied her offers twice before, but something would have to be done with her current living arrangements.

Emile did as the official man ordered, and, Thenardier's corpse having been mentioned, Eponine averted her eyes from the sight. Behind her, she could hear Sophie sobbing softly at the night's events. Tired, exhausted, and sweaty, she let herself sink back to the floor beside her still husband, resting her head against the thick material of the chair and taking one of his hands in hers to rest her cold cheek against it. She remembered the last time someone had been shot. That time, it had been her injured. She remembered, vaguely, just before the fight had ensued, how she had thought to herself mournfully, pondering the devastating thought as her heart ached for Marius how no one loved her.

Eponine's eyes cracked open, and she discovered that both Sophie and Laura had left the room, probably in an attempt to calm Laura's distraught daughter. Lestan was standing by the door, watching her peacefully as emotion began to flow back into him, and Montparnasse, who was sitting not so far away, smiled at her, as well, not a hint of anger or resistance to be found in his person. Beside her, she felt a flutter of movement and knew that Javert was coming to. She was alone in the room with three men who she knew adored her. With a weary ache in her body, she smiled back at Montparnasse, her nature commanding her to be kind to him in his current state.

Perhaps she was not so unloved after all.

"I suppose it's back to prison for me now, hmm?" He said dreamily, still smiling through a thick haze. "I guess I deserve it for whatever I did this time, but I'll still be sad since I won't be seeing you." Montparnasse told her, his eyes brimming with sadness. _"Romeo is banished. There is no end, no limit, measure, bound, in that word's death. No words can that woe sound."_

"No." She told him, allowing herself to contemplate the quick transition he had made from screaming mad man to simple child in just a few short minutes. "Not to prison. To a hospital where you can get better."

He did not immediately answer her, narrowing his eyes and licking his lips, his handsome cherub face contemplating the meaning behind her words as if deciphering a riddle. Eventually, his lips cracked into a grin and he closed his eyes before throwing his head back over his thin shoulders, saying somewhat happily, "I didn't know I was ill. But you'll visit me, won't you? I would like that. I don't know if I could live if I wasn't able to see you on occasion. It's been hard enough the past few months not being able to speak to you. But that isn't nearly as bad as prison. Incarceration was hell. At least I was able to see you through your window or walk through the streets these few weeks of freedom."

He rambled on, stuttering and tripping over words, and Eponine began to feel, of all things, guilt. For the past months she had felt nothing but fear and hatred for him while he had been feeling nothing but sorrow and love for her. True, Montparnasse had planned to kill her husband that night, but he had done it in the pretense that he would be saving her. And, in addition to that fact, he also seemed to be fighting beneath a broken mind. Javert had once told her that the man who had attempted to rape her had been put in concentrated isolation, and she had thought nothing of it at the time but some form of contentment, but perhaps it had been the very thing to shatter his thoughts into a pile of jagged pieces.

Maybe, if he could prove to be a willing patient and man, those pieces would be able to put back together. And maybe the sensual, seductive boy who slept with girls without a thought would be lost forever, replaced with this man who seemed to be well versed in classic literature.

Maybe Eponine could have her friend back.

"I'll visit you, 'Parnasse." She told him, smiling wearily when his eyes burst open and he beamed at her, pure bliss etched across his beauty. "I promise."

"_Prodigious birth of love it is to me!_" Exclaimed Montparnasse. "I am pleased, I am!"

The two men watched as Eponine stood, restless and unable to calm herself, and drifted her thin fingers across her husband's face, her dark eyes agitated in the burning light of the fire.

"You should get some rest, Eponine." Lestan told her, his words as detached as a stranger's might be. "He'll be fine. He'll have a blasted head ache when he wakes up, but I'm sure it's nothing he won't be able to handle." He reassured her, tentatively placing a hand on her shoulder to guide her out of the room. He found, however, that she would not be so easily herded from her husband's side.

Shaking her head gently, Eponine sat back down at the couch at her husband's side, brushing a few misplaced red strands of hair from his eyes and wiping away the streak of blood that had run from his temple to his chin. Both Lestan and Montparnasse observed the concerned look in her face and knew at once that whatever they had thought of themselves and her was a complete fantasy. The image of a wife tending to her husband before them now was a reality of which they could have never comprehended. Freshly, both men felt a wave of sorrow, but they also gained the reassurance that the one woman they had loved in their short lives was atleast happy in her life. If she wasn't she would have not given Javert so much of her adoration.

"You must love him." Montparnasse said, still watching her, and she nodded, her face blank.

"I love him more than I have ever loved anyone in my entire life." Eponine murmured, and Lestan and Montparnasse allowed themselves to smile.


	31. Chapter 31

Antony's hands waltzed slowly against the slim black and white keys of his piano, the movements of his composition precise and excellent as his dark, sullen chords drifted into the air gently. His eyes were closed as he concentrated on his music, attempting to drown out his anxiety with the smooth, almost liquid comfort of song. Today was an important day, and, as pleased and excited as he was, he could not help but feel aggravated. While producing his supremely beautiful sonata, Antony gasped suddenly, having forgotten to breathe momentarily while he was immersed so deeply in the sounds he was obsessed with. Today was an important day. Today he would be married.

As soon as the word married entered his train of thought, his fingers slipped and slammed unevenly against a group of harsh chords, making him sneer at the pale skin of his wrists before withdrawing his hands from the keyboard, looking almost guiltily at the wrinkled expanse of the sheet music spread out before him. He rarely made even the slightest mistake while exercising his talent and his anxiety about today's events was no excuse for ruining the particular movement he had been playing. Antony, his green eyes narrowed and his dark hair tousled, made a face, sighed, and tried in vain to make the blood pounding in his finger tips vanish. A silent, brooding man by nature, he was successful in controlling himself.

A distant but present hand placed itself over his shoulder, and the young man looked up into his father's disapproving face, the older man taking no pride in his son's flighty nerves.

Eponine watched somewhat distantly as Cosette placed a gossamer veil over the bride's face, the opaque fragment of fabric hiding everything about her head besides her long, blond hair, brushed and combed until it shone in shiny waves. Nervously, the young woman twitched her white gown about her hips, straightening and straightening the garment, trying her best to look as beautiful as she could for her fiance who would, by the end of today, be her husband. Eponine's liquid brown eyes slipped down the woman in white, her heart panging with both sorrow and happiness. She could easily remember when the woman in front of her had just been a little girl, smiling, singing, dancing. Next, she caught the eye of the beautiful young girl sitting in the seat across from her. The girl did not smile, but her dark eyes were soft and her pink lips were molded into a graceful form, her swath of brown curls swept over her shoulder fashionably as her doting father had arranged it. Seeing that she was in a serious mood, Eponine did not bother attempting a conversation with her.

Despite the room being crowded with woman, the only sound that filled the air was the rustling of skirts and the muffled sound of Antony's music upstairs, a music which made the bride before her sigh nervously before looking up at the ceiling above her, a small smile barely visible behind the sheer material covering her face while she heard the music which came to him so easily. Suddenly, a sharp, ugly clang resounded through the air, followed by nothing but a heavy silence that pressed down on all of them. Unable to cope with the quiet, Eponine stood, and, whispering to her companions that she was going to check on the disruptance upstairs, she stepped out of the room and into the hallway. She dwindled on her journey up the stairs, remembering, her hand lingering on the smooth wooden railing, but she eventually found her way to the door of the room she had once occupied many years before.

Politely, she knocked on the door before entering with a smile, taking in the sight of the men of her life all crowded in this one room. Lestan, who had made a rare visit from his home in Montfermeil for this special occasion, was sitting comfortably in an old plush armchair, his two sons standing obediently at his side, listening to Antony's resumed sonata peacefully, their sweet, youthful faces soft as they were immersed in the gentle harmonies. On the opposite end of the room, Jehan Montparnasse, now once again mostly sane after years of treatment and still utterly handsome, was lounging over her old bed, his eyes closed and his head resting against his folded arms. Marius was there, too, his hair beginning to gray, and she quickly made her way in the room to stand beside him. Leaning against the wall of the bedroom, Javert looked up and nodded at her before turning his attention back to Antony, his intense gaze filled with both confidence and pride.

"Who would have thought," Marius murmured in her ear with a smile, folding his arms behind his back comfortably. "Your son, my daughter. In love." He sighed to her, his lips happy but his eyes sorrowful as he thought of the day when Antony had come to him, terrified of denial, stuttering like a fool, nothing at all like his usual self as he asked his Uncle Marius for the right of ownership to what was most important in a young man's life. "Getting married."

"Little Fantine looks very beautiful." Eponine whispered to her old love, quiet enough so that her son would not be able to hear her, picturing the nervous vision of a younger looking Cosette that stood downstairs, no doubt still spreading her white skirts and fixing her askew veil. "I'm only sorry I haven't got a daughter for Jean." She said, her voice lifting upwards as if she meant to laugh, her expressive eyes somewhat sad. True, she adored her son, but she would have liked to have had a daughter, as well. However, her first pregnancy had been too hard on her body for her to ever bear a child again and Antony would be the only child of hers to walk the earth. Years before, she had often watched charming Fantine play with her mother enviously, then in turn feeling guilty as she watched Marius observing her son with his own jealousy. But Cosette had soon been able to give her husband a son, an heir who he adored just as much as his first child.

"Hmm," Marius mused, still smiling handsomely. "Well, he and Nina have always been quite close."

"How many damn times do I have to tell you, Marius?" Montparnasse barked loudly, blinking his eyes open to stare blankly at the ceiling. "Keep your son away from my daughter." He commanded, grinning to himself contentedly when Eponine gave a snort of laughter. He lifted his eyes to her, his face softening. He no longer loved her and he had taken no interest in a woman since the discovery of his daughter. Afterwards, little Nina was all the female companionship he needed in his life. "Besides, she is far too young for me to even discuss marriage with her." He said as an afterthought. "Hard to believe that it's already been seven years since she showed up on my doorstep one day, dressed in little more than rags, tugging on my shirt, grinning, calling me father, demanding some food because her mother had died and she hadn't a way to feed herself." He said, twisting his lips in sour reminiscence. "She reminded me of your younger brother."

Eponine could remember the events of 1837 without trouble. It was the year Montparnasse had been released from the care of an asylum where he had been treated. It was also the year Montparnasse had debuted as an actor, repenting and washing away his sins after vowing to never resort to crime again. It also happened to be the year that the handsome man had discovered he had sired a daughter.

It had been a strange and stressful time for Montparnasse, a young man barely accustomed to a normal life after so many years of enduring poverty and darkness. She had retained her promise, however, and had visited him frequently during his treatment, despite objections from a slew of people including doctors, friends, and even her own husband. But she had headed to no one's commands but her own and, because of that, they had become incredibly close friends, as Eponine seemed to be his only hint of light in a place where treatment was more macabre than medicine.

Following her example of reaching out to those who needed a face to talk to, Cosette and Marius had also befriended Montparnasse, but only after he was released from his institution. The handsome man had sworn both Eponine and Javert to secrecy regarding his previous mental state, and they had willingly agreed. It would not help him rehabilitate any further if he was constantly treated as an outcast.

After little Nina had announced herself in his life, it cemented the bond between Montparnasse and his friends. Eponine never denied assistance nor advice to him in times of parental trouble, and she readily became something like the child's adoptive mother. The young girl was a beauty, but she was also prone to long periods of silence only broken by random outbursts of fits. Cosette, her maternal instinct for her own two children stretching towards all others, had taken a hand in raising Nina, as well. She knew very well what it was like to grow up without a mother. Despite their always willing appliance, however, Cosette and Eponine were only needed for things that only a woman could teach a girl. Montparnasse had quickly taken a liking to his daughter, who he had taken off the streets without an ounce of hesitation, doing everything he possibly could to redeem himself in the eyes of the lord so that he may deserve the incandescent glory of the angel that had merely stepped up to his doorway, wanting nothing more than food after her mother had died.

Montparnasse often reminded Cosette of her own father.

In extent, Antony, Fantine, Jean, and Nina rarely passed a single day without each other in their lives. Antony and Fantine, their ages separated only by a little less than a year, had grown even closer to each other than the others. It had been no surprise to anyone when Antony had come to Marius one evening and discussed all the affection he held for his daughter, asking him for her hand. It had been strange for Marius seeing the son of Inspector Javert as sincere and poetic as he had been that night, having to force himself to remember that the tall, broad shouldered man in front of him was also Eponine's son. Her dark hair was not the only thing the mother had given her son.

"I don't think any of us ever grew up with a proper idea of what marriage was." Antony said from where he sat, his manner almost sullen, his fingers still absorbed by each of the glimmering keys of the instrument before him as he produced arpeggio after arpeggio.

Eponine smiled, glancing at Lestan's sons. She wondered if the two even knew what marriage was, their lives were so lost in their own world. Their father had once confided in her that he had proposed to Azelma countless times throughout the years, but she had always denied him, though it was obvious to any onlooker that the two loved each other with an infinite capacity. When confronted about this, Azelma had smiled, somewhat sadly, saying that a woman with her past could never deserve the title of wife. But that had not stopped her from giving Lestan two sons, a pair of strange, thoughtful boys who carried their parents' blond hair and their mother's icy eyes. True, both Azelma and Lestan were shunned by prude eyes, but neither of them cared. They were each lost so deep in their worlds that, the only time they submersed, they needed only the greetings of Eponine and Javert, Marius and Cosette, and the almost ever present company of Montparnasse to sustain their small need for social interaction. But these needs were rare. Even now only the occasion of Antony and Fantine's marriage had barely persuaded the grown lovers to come to Paris, although no one could blame them for their reluctance. A lot of bad memories associated themselves with this city and these people for the pair. It was no wonder they did not want their beloved children to witness the same environment they had been subjected to.

Music stopped, Antony's melodies having come to an end, their final notes still lingering in the air as he kept a single foot on the pedal, and Javert felt his lips slip into a grin. He himself had never been fond of music, but, when his son had confessed his love of song to him at an early age, he had found himself intrigued by the prodigic quality about his seemingly ordinary son. Ordinary, that is, to Javert and anyone who knew Javert. The son was just like his father in nearly every aspect, only excluding some physical differentiations and Antony's tendencies to display hints of positive emotion towards his friends and family, primarily his mother and Fantine, both of whom he loved dearly. But Antony was everything Javert had ever wanted in a child, giving the young man's plans to become a police officer were currently being followed through. And he was taking a wife, a beautiful and kind companion at that, and one he approved of greatly.

And, Javert had to admit, though he was sharing the room with a former murderer, an ingorant and sometimes pretentious baron, an emotionally wrecked former officer, and the daughter of his would be assassin, he was happy. Perhaps he might have preferred a mostly isolated life with only his family, but his wife had forced these other people into his life, as well, and there was nothing capable of removing them from his presence. Instead of being cold, Javert simply chose to accept them all. They were there, after all. There would be no point in being unable to tolerate them all.

Everybody else was happy as well. Montparnasse did not have a wife, but he a daughter, a young rose who he cherished as much as life itself. Lestan and Azelma were pleased with the life they led with each other. They had one another and their sons, two young, handsome reminders of the bond which held them together so closely. Marius and Cosette's happiness had never been had to obtain for them, and not a single person doubted the endless affection that still poured from each of them and into each other as if they were still the spring lovers of nineteen years ago. Antony, Fantine, Jean, Nina, and Azelma's two sons were all content with their lives, too, a fact that pleased Eponine in particular. None of them would never know the disastrous pain their parents had all gone through at one time. They would never experience poverty, loneliness, isolation, separation. They would never have to feel the ordeals of a life without love, a life filled with the hatred of many and the affection of none, a life of pain and promises that were never fulfilled. Everyone had struggled for days, months, and years all for this. The misery was gone. Happiness was all that remained.

Happiness was their reward for never giving up on their quests.

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**I'm afraid this is the terribly happy end. Alright, I'll admit it, I'm a little shocked that it's over. This is what seven months' work has amounted to. I suppose I'm quite pleased with the improvement I have made in my literary skills since the first chapter to now. But, a of late, I have been dragging myself through life with nothing much to do after I finished writing this chapter. (Yes, this is how sad and boring my life is!)**

**I thank all of you, especially ahgamora who has provided some great feedback and who inadvertently encouraged me to keep writing this story even after I lost interest in it by publishing their own story, thereby resubmersing me in intrigue. I would also like to thank all of you for putting up with late reviews while I was ill. **

**I owe a lot of explanations, as well, I'm guessing. Somebody asked me why Montparnasse specifically quotes Juliet. Here is the anwer: Juliet, in comparison to Romeo, is almost always portrayed as the more emotional of the pair. I thought for a while of having him quote Ophelia and a few other of the Shakespeare tragiques, but I grew content with the idea of my 'Parnasse being fixated on a single play (and a darkly romantic one at that). He is, after all, a dark and romantic character.**

**And then, somebody noticed that both Javert and his mother have Greek names. They then asked me if I had done this on purpose. The answer is yes. In everything I have ever written names play an important role. Arcturus is the name of a star, which was, of itself, named after a Greek warrior. The name means 'Protector' or 'Guardian'. I found it fitting and the sound of it pleased me. Calpurnia, though I am a huge fan of To Kill A Mockingbird, has no relation to the said novel by Harper Lee. Both Miss Lee and I did use the name for similar reasons, though. The Greek historical figure Calpurnia, though kind and motherly, never had any children of her own. She, however, did adore her husband's daughter and cared for many other children in her lifetime. Javert's mother never had children of her own, either, but she did care greatly fo her adoptive son. And again, the name Antony, though not Greek, is Roman. As a historical person, I liked to see the transition from Greek to Roman power that happened in reality embedded in literature. Therefore, it made sense to have a man named Arcturus to produce a son named Antony. In addition, following the lines of the affair of Cleopatra and Mark Antony, I found it to be a fairly romantic name which fitted the character, even if Mark Antony was still a soldier. **

**To cease other questions, Montparnasse's name is Jehan simply because I have found it to be a common man's name in France during this particular era. I wanted it to be simple and not overly thought out as his parents would have likely named him as such. I also liked the idea that he, as such a complexly mad man, would be embarrassed to have such a simple name. **

**And, lastly, Lestan. It sounds strange, but it is a real name. Stranger still, I have no real explanation for this name, mostly because, when I first wrote the character, I had no plans to intwine him in the story the way I did. **

**I had plans for a while of writing for another Les Miserables story, but I've exhausted almost all of my creativity in this one. Perhaps, if I am given time, you may find yourselves presented with another. God only knows how the fanbase will spike now that the movie is out. Maybe I'll get more reviews for this hahahahahahahaha. I need sleep...**

**Well, for now at least, this is goodbye. If anyone should have any questions concerning this, do not be afraid to message me. **

_**"Adieu, adieu, adieu. Remember me."**_


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